Opposites Attract
by Kelcat
Summary: Two men, complete opposites, find in each other what they didn't even realize they were looking for.
1. Confession

A/N: For the longest time I couldn't get into the idea of an Alistair/Zevran romance. Alistair just didn't seem the type to me. Then, by a series of strange events, I found myself writing a few short stories about them and I'm hooked. I thought about writing a full story about them from the beginning of Origins to the end, but I just don't have the time or effort for that.

Instead, I've put this together: A series of vignettes about Alistair and Zevran's growing relationship. 'The Morning After' and 'La Sinfonia' can kind of be considered prequels to this, I'm starting from there and moving forward. But these aren't going to be in any specific order, and they'll probably jump all over the place timewise. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

* * *

Alistair woke to the sound of someone moving around in his tent. Peering into the gloom, he could make out the shape of someone kneeling next to him—someone whose identity was quickly revealed when he felt the press of insistent lips upon his own.

"Zevran…mmph…what are you doing in here?"

A quiet purr sounded in Zevran's throat. "I would think that would be quite obvious, _caro_."

Alistair tried to clear the fog of sleep from his brain but was having little success, especially when he felt Zevran's hand on his groin. "You're…you're not supposed to be in here." He panted.

Zevran undid the laces of Alistair's breeches and slipped his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around Alistair's length. "And why not? Do you not desire my…company?"

"That's not the point," _Andraste's ass,_ it was getting hard to think, "what if someone saw you come in?" He groaned at the feeling of Zevran tightening his grip on his rapidly stiffening length and starting a slow stroke. "What if they hear us?"

Zevran sighed softly, but continued stroking. "Alistair. I realize that perhaps this is not the best time, but there is something I need to tell you."

Alistair was lost in a wave of bliss. He had had no other lovers, so he had no one to compare Zevran with. But he was quite certain that the rogue was much more talented in the ways of pleasure than most others.

And Zevran knew exactly how to pleasure him. The rough brush of a thumb over the tip, firm strokes alternating between slow and fast; all of these things combined to bring Alistair to the very edge of release. His mind vaguely registered that Zevran was speaking. "What…" he paused as a ripple of pleasure ran through him, "what do you need to tell me?"

"First you must promise me you will not get angry." Zevran continued stroking.

"I promise, I promise," Alistair panted, "_Oh, Maker_, that feels good."

Zevran slowed his ministrations and loosened his grip, so that Alistair could feel just the lightest of touches around his length. Zevran took a deep breath. "Everyone knows about us."

"_W-what?"_ Alistair sat up abruptly, all thoughts of pleasure gone. He brushed Zevran's hand away. "What do you mean everyone knows?"

Zevran sighed and sat back on his heels. "You promised me you would not get mad."

Alistair glared at him. "I lied. _How_ does everyone know? You haven't been going around bragging have you? Telling everyone how you got me to 'hop borders' or whatever it was?" He flopped back onto the bedroll, huffing in irritation.

Zevran ran his fingers through Alistair's hair. "I will admit I was sorely tempted to tell Shale of my success, but I knew it would upset you. So, no, I did not tell anyone.

"I hate to tell you this _caro_," he continued, "but you are not as good at being discreet as you think you are. For one thing, everyone saw me go into your tent that first night and not come back out." He grinned lasciviously. "And you have a tendency to be quite loud when you are in the throes of passion. I doubt the thick walls of Redcliffe Castle could muffle even that much noise."

Alistair was horrified. He could feel the deep blush spreading across his face. "Maker's Breath, they _heard us_?" He groaned and pulled the blanket up over his head. "This is just great," he said, his voice muffled.

Zevran stretched out next to him and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling the blanket down. "Come now, is it so bad that everyone knows?"

Alistair half-turned to look at him. "Aside from the fact that Morrigan already has more than enough to tease me about?"

"They have known for more than a month now, and Natia made it very clear that anyone bringing up the subject would face her wrath." Zevran smiled. "She is very protective of you, you know."

Alistair smiled at that. Natia was definitely more of a sister to him than Goldanna would ever be, and he liked that she looked out for him.

Zevran pulled Alistair closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "I have told you before _caro_, I will not ask you for more than you are willing to give. If you are truly embarrassed to be with me…well, perhaps it is best that we end things now."

"No, no, it's not that at all!" Alistair replied quickly. "I just don't like being the center of attention, you know that. I just don't see why it's anyone's business what we do." He clasped one of Zevran's hands. "I don't want to end things, I like being with you."

Something flashed in Zevran's eyes, but it was gone before Alistair could determine what it was. He bit his lower lip, afraid he had messed up. He had to be careful what he said to Zevran about feelings, the very last thing he wanted was to push him away.

He sighed with relief when Zevran's lips curved into a smile. "I like being with you also." His eyes twinkled with mirth. "Do you know, you are incredibly sexy when you're angry."

Alistair blushed. "Am I really?"

"Mmm, yes. It drives me mad with desire." He pulled Alistair into a deep kiss.

Several long moments later, Alistair pulled back. "So, are you going to finish what you started?" he said with a grin, "or am I going to have to...torture you?"

Zevran laughed delightedly. "You know, for someone raised by the Chantry, you have a very dirty mind."

"I can't help it," Alistair said, nibbling along the shell of Zevran's ear, "you're a bad influence on me."

Zevran shivered as Alistair nipped at the very tip of his ear. "Mmm, it seems I've created a monster." He took hold of Alistair's breeches again, this time pulling them all the way off.

Grinning wickedly, he wrapped his lips around the very tip of Alistair's length. A few moments of suckling had Alistair as hard as he was before.

Moaning, Alistair twined his fingers in Zevran's golden hair, trying to get the rogue to take him in deeper. Zevran complied, swallowing Alistair's length in completely, burying his nose in the soft brown curls at the base.

Alistair gasped, Zevran's hands on his hips the only thing stopping him from bucking into the rogue's hot mouth. After a few heartbeats Zevran pulled back slightly, hollowing his cheeks and sucking in earnest.

"Ze-Zevran!" Alistair shouted as he was finally pushed over the edge and released into Zevran's mouth. Zevran smiled, catlike, before stretching out atop Alistair and kissing him fiercely.

Alistair pulled back from the kiss, gasping for breath. "You know, the Chantry wasn't _all_ bad. They did teach me a few things."

"Hmm? Like what" Zevran leaned down to nuzzle at Alistair's neck.

Alistair gave him a sly grin. "That it's better to give than receive." He trailed his hand down Zevran's body before resting on the front of his breeches.

Zevran laughed. "Truly? Then we could be in for a long night."


	2. Family

Just a little note here to state that this snippet is pre-romance. Just a little reflection on how the two men might not be as different as they thought.

* * *

The Market District in Denerim was alive with activity. The laughter and shouts of grimy children running around mixed with the cries of the vendors, filling the square with noise. Zevran mused that Andraste would have done better to assign merchants with the task of spreading her Chant to all four corners of the world rather than her disciples: the honeyed voices of the vendors here could persuade people to buy anything.

The deep voice of the warrior standing nearby cut through Zevran's thoughts. "_This_ is the family I've been looking for all my life? That…_shrew_…is my _sister_? I can't believe it." Zevran wandered away from the discussion Alistair and Natia were having, not wishing to get involved.

It had come as no surprise to him that Alistair's half-sister had been nothing but a greedy bitch, but apparently it had surprised Alistair. But really, what did the man expect? He had waltzed into some complete stranger's house, declared himself her long-lost brother, told her he was a Grey Warden and the son of Maric, and he was actually shocked that she had demanded a hand-out!

Alistair was much too naïve for his own good. How the man had survived in the world this long was beyond him. Sooner or later he would realize that life was hard and cruel, and he'd be the better for knowing that.

From the set of Natia's jaw, Zevran suspected she was telling Alistair pretty much the same thing. And by the droop of his shoulders it seemed the warrior was not taking it well. _Ah well, he will learn eventually_.

oOoOo

That night, Zevran and Alistair shared first watch; Natia insisted that everyone take watch in pairs, most likely because Leliana had a tendency to fall asleep during her shifts. As usual, Alistair did his best to ignore Zevran, sitting as far away from him as possible but near enough to the campfire to draw warmth from it. Zevran knew it wasn't that Alistair disliked him, not really, it was more that Zevran made him extremely uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine why.

"So, my friend," Zevran began, "how is it that you are still a virgin, hmm? We have met many fine young women on our travels."

Alistair groaned. "Zevran, why is it that every single conversation you have is about sex."

Zevran gave him a wicked grin. "I enjoy talking about things that are pleasurable. And there is nothing more pleasurable than sex, my friend." He paused a moment, "Alcohol is good as well. In fact, I can think of no greater pleasure than drinking wine whilst making love."

"Can we please talk about something other than sex?" Alistair begged.

Zevran pulled a whetstone from his pack and began sharpening his dagger. "We could talk about your sister if you'd like. She was most entertaining."

"Oh yes, thank you," Alistair said sarcastically, "that's a much better topic. I don't think." He shifted uncomfortably and looked over at Zevran. "I suppose you're going to yell at me too?"

Zevran paused in his work, "Not at all, I am sure Natia did a good enough job of that." He smiled humorously. "Though I hope you have learned your lesson."

Alistair threw up his hands. "What is it with you people? Is it so wrong to want a connection with somebody?" He sighed. "I just thought she'd be glad to meet me, to have a brother. Doesn't family just accept each other?"

Zevran shrugged, and continued sharpening his blades. "I wouldn't know about that, I have no family myself." For some reason, Alistair's open face move him to elaborate. "My mother died giving birth to me; I have no idea who my father was."

"So did mine," Alistair said, "I mean my mother. Died when I was born, that is." He flushed, embarrassed. Zevran thought the man's awkwardness was actually rather endearing, though he would never tell him that.

Alistair leaned forward, suddenly seeming to take great interest in the fire and pointedly not looking at Zevran. "Do you, um, do you know anything about her?"

Zevran was nonplussed, wondering at Alistair's sudden interest in him. "Well, aside from the fact that she was a whore," he chuckled as Alistair made a choking sound, "all I know for certain is that she was Dalish."

He paused, thinking. "When I was a child I had a pair of gloves that belonged to her, of Dalish make. They were the only thing of hers that I had, but of course the Crow Master took them away from me. Natia found a similar pair when we were in Haven," he held up his hands so Alistair could see the gloves he was wearing, "they are not exactly the same, but…" he trailed off, shrugging.

Alistair tugged on the chain around his neck, pulling the pendant out from where it was hanging beneath his breastplate. Zevran recognized it as a symbol of Andraste. "This was my mother's," Alistair said, "when Arl Eamon sent me to the Monastery I was so mad at him that I threw it at the wall, shattering it. Natia found it in the Arl's study; I guess he repaired it at some point."

Laughing softly, Zevran shook his head. "Our fearless leader is very good at finding gifts it seems."

Alistair grinned, and Zevran was taken aback at how handsome the young warrior looked. Of course, Zevran had taken note of his good looks on the very first day they had met, but there was something about the man's smile—it seemed to light up his whole face.

Alistair went back to staring at the fire, once again pointedly avoiding looking at Zevran. "Doesn't it bother you? Not having a family?"

"Of course not." Zevran was starting to get irritated—he disliked talking about such sentimental things. "Why would it bother me?"

"Well, don't you wish you had someone you were close to?"

Zevran snorted. "I am an assassin Alistair, I have been trained almost my entire life to _not_ get close to anyone."

Alistair stared at him, appalled. "You're not supposed to be close to anyone? What—why not?"

"It is dangerous. An enemy will use any weakness you have to defeat you." Zevran put down the whetstone and dagger and looked at Alistair. The look of concern on the man's face was unsettling.

He grinned and clapped Alistair on the back. "Do not worry yourself, my friend, I have more than enough in my life to make me happy." A lie of course, but Alistair didn't need to know that. He thought it best to end this discussion. "If you would like, I could show you some of these pleasurable things."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Maker Zevran, is sex really the only thing you ever think about?"

Zevran gave him a look of mock-hurt. "I am truly crushed that you would think me to be so shallow. Here I was trying to offer comfort and you are trying to turn it into something lewd."

"I wasn't 'trying to turn it' into anything," Alistair grumbled, "S'not my fault you have a one-track mind."

"Hmm, well seeing as how I did not once use the word 'sex', I would think _you_ are the one that is single-minded." He laughed in triumph when he saw Alistair blush.

Alistair raised his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, you win. As usual." He stood up. "I'm going for a walk around the perimeter, make sure everything's safe."

Zevran hid a smile, certain that Alistair was more interested in getting away from him than he was concerned for the safety of the camp. "Good idea."

Turning to leave, Alistair stopped. "You know Zevran, I never would have guessed that you and I had something in common. Maybe you're not as bad as I thought." He gave a small smile before setting off towards the edge of the camp.

Zevran leaned back on his hands, shaking his head in wonder. He had thought he had Alistair all figured out. But now…he wasn't so sure. The warrior actually seemed _pleased_ that he and Zevran shared some kind of common bond. Maybe he wasn't as naïve as Zevran believed—maybe he was just lonely.

"Alistair," he called, then waited for the man to come back. "My friends call me Zev."

The warrior just stood there for a moment, taken aback. Then he broke out into another one of those beautiful smiles. "Good to know. Zev."


	3. An Old Friend

"No!" The word escaped Alistair's mouth before he had a chance to stop it. _Stupid, stupid. _He had no right to make Zevran's choices. If he really wanted to go back to the Crows, it wasn't right for Alistair to stop him. Even if every bone in his body _was_ screaming at him to just grab Zevran and run as far away as possible.

Apparently Natia wanted Zevran to stay as much as he did. "Zevran doesn't need the Crows anymore," she said to the man standing at the top of the stairs.

"Oh?" Taliesen sneered, "Does Zevran need to live?"

Zevran smiled humorlessly. "I suspect I will manage just fine. I am sorry my old friend, but the answer is no. I am not coming back…and you should have stayed in Antiva."

Alistair's sword was out the second Zevran finished speaking, head swiveling from side to side to assess the half dozen Crows that had appeared out of nowhere. He left the archers to Morrigan, who's spells were generally long enough in range for her to avoid their arrows.

Instead he concentrated on the rogues at the bottom of the stairs. A bellow of rage from him was enough to catch their attentions and he and Natia quickly dispatched them. The only one left then was Taliesen, who had gone straight for Zevran the moment the fight started.

The two men were locked in battle, focused on each other and ignoring everything around them. Zevran was so far meeting blow for blow, but Alistair could see that Taliesen was the better fighter. Before Alistair even had a chance to move Zevran was disarmed and on the ground, glaring at his former friend. Alistair surged forward, hoping to take the assassin by surprise. But the clanking of his plate armor gave him away and Taliesen turned towards the noise.

Alistair didn't even bother to think. Ignoring the twin daggers aimed at his head he used his momentum to plow into the man, knocking him to the ground. He felt a sharp pain on the left side of his neck but ignored it. In the heat of battle nothing mattered but the enemy in front of you. Raising his sword he plunged it downward into Taliesen's chest.

Alistair sheathed his sword and paused to catch his breath. Then he held out his hand to Zevran, pulling him onto his feet. Zevran reached out to touch his neck and Alistair was surprised when it came back covered in blood.

Alistair reached his own hand up to his neck, fingers tracing the thin gash running along the side. It didn't hurt much, and seemed to be fairly superficial. "Ha, good thing I knocked him over, otherwise he might have cut my…head…clean off…" his words died out at the pained look on Zevran's face and he could have kicked himself. He had just killed the man that had once been Zevran's best friend, probably not the best time to joke about it.

"Come on," Natia said, pushing a handkerchief into Alistair's hand, "Let's get you back to Eamon's so Wynne can take a look at that. I really wish you'd learn healing magic, Morrigan." She sounded exasperated.

"That's okay," Alistair said, using the handkerchief to staunch the blood, "I'd rather wait for Wynne anyway."

Morrigan sighed loudly. "Too bad, and I was _so_ looking forward to helping you."

"Yes," Alistair replied dryly, "I can see you're all broken up about it."

oOoOo

They made their way back to Eamon's estate in relative silence, not encountering anything worse than a few beggars that Natia gave some silvers to. Alistair desperately wanted to talk to Zevran about what had happened, but he didn't know how. It would be easier if he at least knew how Zevran felt about Taliesen's death—whether he was relieved or saddened or what. But Zevran kept his thoughts to himself as usual, his face impassive.

Alistair was carted off by Wynne as soon as they arrived, mumbling apologies to her for getting injured.

"Honestly, Alistair," Wynne's lips were pursed, "f you would just wear a helmet…"

"I hate wearing helmets," Alistair pouted, "they make my hair all sweaty. And anyway, it's not like we were expecting to be attacked."

Wynne looked as if she wanted to say something else, but kept quiet—for which Alistair was glad. Let Natia tell her who they were fighting, if she wanted to know. He didn't have any desire to go over the particulars of that battle.

Once healed, he wandered up to his room so he could clean himself up. The door to Natia's room was partially open and he could hear Zevran's voice as he passed by.

"…possible for me to leave, if I wanted to," Zevran was saying, "I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never…" Alistair moved on, not wanting to hear the rest of their conversation.

Back in his room, he cleaned the blood off with water from the basin and changed out of his armor into breeches and a tunic. He paced the floor restlessly. Part of him wished he had continued eavesdropping on Zevran and Natia, wanted to know if Zevran was staying or not. But there was another part of him that didn't want to hear Zevran's decision, that didn't want to hear it if Zevran said he was leaving.

Zevran came in some time later, closing the door behind him. He reached a hand up to cup Alistair's chin, tilting his head to the side. "How is your neck?"

Alistair smiled, touched at Zevran's concern. "It's fine. No scar, even."

"Hmm." Zevran's face was unreadable. He moved away to stand by the window. "So, Taliesen is dead," he stated lightly, his back to Alistair.

"Yeah, well, he _was_ trying to kill you." Alistair bit his bottom lip, hoping that Zevran wasn't blaming him for that.

Zevran was silent for several moments, and Alistair couldn't stand it any longer. "Um, I overheard you talking to Natia." His words apparently snapped Zevran out of wherever his mind had been, and he turned to look at him. Alistair cleared his throat and plowed on. "I didn't hear everything, and I…I was wondering if you were…well, if you're going to stay or not."

Zevran's lips curved into a smile. "I am going to stay, of course. Saving the world is a worthy cause, yes?"

Alistair let out the breath he had been holding and moved closer to the elf, wrapping him in a loose hug. "Good. I'm glad you're staying."

Zevran returned the hug. "As am I." He drew back, taking Alistair's hands in his. "I want to thank you, for what you did. If it had not been for you, I would be dead."

Alistair smiled, relieved. "You don't have to thank me, I'm just glad you're not mad at me."

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "And why would I be mad?"

"Well, he was your friend after all. I know he meant a lot to you." Alistair suspected that Taliesen had been more than just a friend, but he would never ask about that. Zevran's past was his own, and Alistair knew better than to pry.

Zevran smiled sadly. "He did once, long ago. But after Rinna died…well, things changed between us, as you can imagine."

Alistair nodded. Zevran had already told him about what happened with Rinna, and he could understand why the man would want to distance himself from Taliesen after that—even if he had agreed to let Taliesen kill her. Probably _because_ of that.

Not for the first time Alistair wished that he was good with words, he never knew what to say at times like this. Natia was the one who was good at comforting people, she always knew the right things to say. He hugged Zevran again, and placed a light kiss on his lips, knowing that Zevran would understand what the gestures meant.

Zevran smiled warmly at him, then reached into his pocket. "I have something for you, _caro_."

Alistair looked at the item in Zevran's open hand—it was the earring that Zevran usually wore, a thick, flattened gold hoop studded with a line of tiny diamonds.

"I acquired it on my first job for the Crows," Zevran explained, "A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him," he chuckled, "in fact, that's about all he was wearing. I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I've kept it since…and I'd like you to have it."

Alistair was speechless. If he was honest with himself, he was a bit put off by the fact that it was a _token_ of Zevran's first assassination. But he was also touched that Zevran would offer something to him that obviously held a lot of significance for him.

"It's beautiful, Zev, thank you."

Zevran seemed to wince. "Don't get the wrong idea about it," he smiled thinly, "you killed Taliesen, I think that this is the least I can do for you."

Alistair's hand froze in the process of picking up the earring. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You mean…" he looked at Zevran, horrified, "this is a reward? This is _payment_ for killing someone for you?"

Either Zevran didn't notice Alistair's distress or he pretended not to. "Look, it's meant a lot to me, but so have…so has what you've done for me." He smiled.

Alistair felt as if he had been slapped in the face. He couldn't believe it. After everything they had been through, everything they had done together, how could Zevran act like this? Alistair had always suspected that he felt more for Zevran than Zevran did for him, but to do this…to cheapen things between them by trying to _pay_ Alistair for saving his life—he felt like throwing up.

He closed his eyes. "I-I can't take it Zevran, I'm sorry. If you can't even understand why I did what I did…I mean, I thought that…" Once again, words failed him. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Zevran's face clouded with anger. "You are sorry? I try to offer you my thanks, to show you—" he cut himself off, "Fine, you don't want the earring? You don't get the earring." He turned and walked towards the door.

"Zev, please," Alistair begged, "please don't be mad at me."

Zevran stopped, resting his forehead against the door for a few moments. When he turned back around the anger was gone from his face, replaced with what looked like weariness. "I am not mad at you _caro_. Or rather, I _should not_ be mad at you. I apologize for my behavior." His face twisted into what Alistair knew to be a false smile, "I will…try to think of a better way to thank you."

Alistair returned an equally false smile and watched as Zevran left._ Stupid! Stupid!Stupid!_ What was he_ thinking?_ After all the work he had done over the past month to get Zevran to open up to him, to trust him, to maybe even care for him—and he'd just thrown it away over a stupid earring! _Maker, _why couldn't he ever do anythingright? Why couldn't he have just accepted the gift?

He threw himself down on the bed. He knew why he couldn't take the earring, and it hurt that he couldn't explain it to Zevran. But Zevran was extremely wary when it came to expressing feelings, Alistair had figured that out very quickly. The one and only time that Alistair had hinted, _hinted,_ that he might have some kind of feelings for the other man other than just friendship, Zevran had practically bolted from the room.

He felt tears sting his eyes, as he admitted to himself that the reason he couldn't accept Zevran's gift—the _real _reason—was because when Zevran had first opened his hand and shown him what was sitting there…Alistair thought it meant that maybe Zevran might love him. Like he loved Zevran. But he knew now that he had been a fool to even think that. Zevran cared for him, in his own way, but he could never feel the same way Alistair did. He had made that very clear tonight.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself to sleep, but with no luck. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, he fell into a very light sleep shortly after dawn. A loud banging on his door quickly roused him.

He got up and walked to the door, his hand hesitating over the doorknob. What if it was Zevran? He really didn't think he could handle that right now. Taking a deep breath he opened the door, surprised to see Natia.

"Eamon needs to see us." If she noticed that Alistair's eyes were red from crying she didn't say anything.

"At this time of morning, what in the Maker for?"

Natia scowled. "Some woman claiming to be Anora's maid just showed up. Eamon said we need to hear what she told him."

Alistair sighed and rubbed at his eyes. If nothing else it would distract him from his thoughts. He threw his boots on and left with Natia, fairly certain that whatever this woman had to say it wouldn't be good.

* * *

A/N: The game describes Zevran's earring only as "gold." But the icon is of a hoop earring, and Zevran says it's "jeweled." So I decided to combine all three elements into one.


	4. The Spoiled Princess

Apologies for how slow I'm being with this, I'm still working on finding my voice with this story. It's definitely turning into something I wasn't expecting, which I think is actually turning out to be a good thing. Anyway, here's a nice smutty piece to make up for last chapter's angst. This is an expansion of a very small reference made in "La Sinfonia", where a night spent at the Spoiled Princess Inn reveals Alistair's "fiery" side. This chapter is purely pwp, so don't bother looking for a plot here :)

* * *

Everyone was relieved when Natia proclaimed that they would be spending the night at the Spoiled Princess rather than pushing straight on to the Circle Tower. Though it had been several months since they had cleared it of abominations the tower was still most likely in disarray, and none of them relished the idea of walking through those empty halls at night with nothing but the chilling memories of the horrors they had once encountered there.

The party waited outside the inn as Natia spoke to the proprietor. She had a smile on her face when she returned to them. "Well," she started, "there's good news and bad news. The good news is that there are some rooms available," she paused, "the bad news is there are only four, so we're going to have to double up."

Zevran tried very hard not to start grinning. If things went right he might be spending a much more enjoyable evening than he had originally thought. He pulled himself out of his fantasies to listen to Natia's assignment of the rooms.

"Morrigan will be with me obviously," the dwarf flashed a quick smile at the dark-haired woman. "Leliana and Wynne can share a room. Sten—" The tall qunari straightened up, most likely hoping he would get a room to himself, "—you can share with Oghren since you both snore."

Oghren snorted. "So long as he doesn't try to steal my ale we'll get along fine." Sten rolled his eyes, but did not remark.

Natia turned to Alistair with, Zevran couldn't help but notice, a slight sparkle in her eye. She sighed somewhat theatrically. "I'm sorry Alistair, but I'm afraid you're stuck with Zevran."

Zevran smirked. "Oh, I am sure we will have fun." He moved aside a heartbeat before Alistair's booted foot could come down on his own. He rearranged his face into a mask of innocence when Alistair turned around to glare at him.

"Yes," Alistair's voice was deadpan, "we'll have a blast."

The group ambled into the inn, each going to their assigned rooms. Zevran noticed Alistair hanging back, waiting to engage Natia in conversation. He wondered briefly what that was about, but the thought of a hot bath was too tempting so he left the two Wardens to their private discussion.

oOoOo

Zevran had just relaxed into the heated water of the tub when Alistair entered the room. The scowl on Alistair's face indicated his unhappiness.

"Honestly Zev," he began, "don't you think you could have been a little less obvious? Maker, it's not that hard. All you have to do is _not speak_."

Zevran smirked. "Ah, but if I did not flirt when the opportunity presents itself that would be even more of a giveaway, no?"

Alistair sighed. "I suppose that's true enough." He began removing his armor.

Zevran ran his eyes appraisingly over the warrior's body. Even in the linen breeches and shirt that he wore beneath his heavy armor he was still a sight to behold. "Come now," Zevran said slyly, "There is no point in spending the night arguing. I am sure we can find a much more enjoyable way of passing the time." He was delighted when Alistair began blushing—teasing the man was entirely too much fun.

Alistair had stripped down to his smallclothes. "Are you going to be done soon? I feel like I've been rolling around in the mud."

Zevran smirked at him. "There's room enough in here for two, you know." Alistair blushed again and Zevran rolled his eyes. Apparently it would take some time for the man to completely get over his Chantry upbringing.

Looking a bit unsure, Alistair stripped off his remaining clothes and stepped into the bath. His reservations seemed to vanish as soon as the warm water washed over him and he relaxed against the back of the tub with a satisfied groan, eyes closed with pleasure.

Zevran scooted forward until he was straddling the warrior's hips. Alistair's eyes flashed opened and his lips curled into a smile. "If there's room enough for two, what are you doing over here?"

Zevran draped his arms around Alistair's neck and began kissing along the man's jaw line. "I find that the company is more enjoyable on this side of the tub." He thrust his hips forward, causing Alistair to gasp. He leaned in and kissed the warrior lightly, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Finish your bath," Zevran murmured in Alistair's ear before getting out of the tub and grabbing a nearby towel to dry himself off. The sounds of frantic splashing behind him told him Alistair was attempting to take the world's fastest bath and he smiled to himself.

Thoroughly dry Zevran stretched himself out on the bed, watching as Alistair finished up his own bath before getting out. Zevran stared hungrily at the warrior as the water dripped off of his well-defined muscles and he took his cock in hand, lazily stroking himself as he watched Alistair dry off.

Zevran heard Alistair's breath catch as he noticed what he was doing, and he was pleased to see that Alistair was starting to harden. Alistair climbed up on the bed with him, straddling Zevran's legs. He reached out to touch Zevran but his hand stopped short, a look of anxiety crossing his face.

"What is wrong, _caro_?" Zevran looked at him with some concern.

Alistair shook his head, biting his lower lip. "I just…this is still new to me, you know." Zevran nodded his head slowly, wondering where this was going. Alistair sighed in frustration. "I don't want to do something wrong, or do something you don't like."

Zevran looked at him for a moment, before realizing what he was trying to say. They had been intimate before, of course, but Alistair had been drunk the first time and the second time was somewhat awkward on his part as he wrestled with the fact that he actually found it pleasurable to be with another man.

He smiled as he reached out and brushed a finger against Alistair's cheek. "My dear Warden, I doubt very much that you will do anything I do not like." He cupped Alistair's chin and pulled him down for a kiss. "Just do what feels good to you."

Alistair seemed to be reassured by that and he began to tentatively explore Zevran's body with his hands. He ran his fingers along Zevran's chest, tracing his muscles before brushing a thumb across one of his nipples. Zevran moaned softly in pleasure, which encouraged Alistair to rub at the nipple, pinching the hardened nub between his fingers.

Zevran gripped the back of Alistair's neck, pulling him down so that the warrior was stretched out on top of him. Alistair began kissing him fervently, exploring Zevran's mouth with his tongue; Alistair groaned as Zevran pushed back with his tongue, deepening the kiss.

Long moments later Zevran broke the kiss and tilted his head to the side, encouraging Alistair to begin nipping at his neck. He gasped when he felt Alistair's teeth on the lobe of his ear, and bucked his hips up into Alistair's when the warrior began licking along the shell of his ear. Alistair pulled back, smiling. "Really, Zev? _Ears?_" He seemed to be delighted to have found something that Zevran clearly found pleasurable.

"Elves have very sensitive ears," Zevran murmured.

Alistair grinned wickedly before leaning down once more, nipping at the tip of Zevran's ear. Zevran moaned and pressed his hips upwards again and Alistair responded enthusiastically. Running his tongue along the shell of Zevran's ear Alistair began grinding against him, rubbing their cocks together with an increasingly frantic pace.

Zevran wanted to tell Alistair to slow down, that they should do this properly rather than rutting like a couple of inexperienced teenagers. But he found Alistair's sudden wildness extremely…intoxicating. He began responding, gasping as he thrust his hips into Alistair's. Soon the warrior was groaning and Zevran could feel the man's release against his stomach. He reached his own climax not long after, his seed mixing with Alistair's to create a sticky mess between them.

Alistair collapsed backwards onto the bed, breathing heavily."Sorry," he said, smiling sheepishly at Zevran, "I guess I kind of lost control."

Zevran laughed at that. "It is quite alright _caro,_ it was very…enjoyable." Alistair grinned at him. Zevran got up from the bed and grabbed the towel, cleaning first himself and then Alistair before stretching out on the bed next to him.

They laid there for awhile, Zevran rubbing his hand over Alistair's chest and along his arms. Slowly he moved his hand lower, trailing his fingers lightly along Alistair's thighs. He smiled to himself as he felt Alistair shifting his hips slightly, his desire returning once more.

Zevran leaned over and began kissing him deeply as he moved his hand to Alistair's stiffening cock. Thrusting his tongue into Alistair's mouth he began stroking him, his own erection pressed tight against the warrior's leg.

He released his grip on Alistair's length and reached behind him for the bottle of oil he had set on the bedside table earlier. He pressed the bottle into Alistair's hand as he stretched out on his back. Alistair unstoppered the bottle and drizzled some of the oil onto his fingers. He leaned down to kiss Zevran as he began massaging the tight ring of muscle at Zevran's entrance.

Zevran moaned as he felt the first finger enter him, and began rocking his hips to encourage Alistair to thrust his finger in and out. One finger became two and Zevran gasped and gripped Alistair's bicep as he felt the fingers brushing against that pleasurable spot inside him.

Unable to wait any longer Zevran grabbed up the bottle of oil and used it to coat Alistair's length. The moan of disappointment he uttered when Alistair removed his fingers from his entrance turned into one of pleasure as he felt Alistair press his cock inside of him.

Zevran delighted in Alistair's passion as the man began thrusting into him. He groaned loudly as Alistair pounded into him—his pace was somewhat erratic, still being new at this, but his roughness was more than enough to make up for that.

Alistair grasped one of Zevran's legs, folding it up against his chest. This changed the angle enough that every thrust hit against that spot inside of him and he was soon moaning Alistair's name over and over again, digging his nails into the man's back.

Zevran reached down and grasped his own cock, pumping it furiously as Alistair cried out his orgasm, releasing deep inside him. Zevran bit down hard on Alistair's shoulder, muffling his cry as he came hard.

Exhausted, Alistair's arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Zevran. They laid there for a few moments, both unable to move before Alistair finally pulled out of him and fell backwards onto the bed. Zevran draped his arm across Alistair's chest, smiling as Alistair curled his arms around him. He was definitely surprised at this side of Alistair's personality, he would have never thought the man could be so passionate. It definitely had not been as hard as he had expected to get Alistair to let go of his inhibitions. Now all he needed to do was work on Alistair's technique. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that he was definitely going to enjoy educating Alistair in the finer points of making love.

* * *

Many, many heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, and to all of you that have added it to your alerts and/or favorites. It is extremely encouraging to know that people are enjoying my writing.


	5. Fort Drakon

Zevran would be the first to admit that he had done many stupid things during his time as a Crow, including that incident with the mage. But this—this topped them all. He was about to break into the most heavily guarded fort in all of Thedas, with no one to help him but a highly temperamental witch. And why were they venturing on such a foolhardy rescue mission? Because of his naïve, idealistic, foolish lover.

Things had been going amazingly well in their attempt to rescue Queen Anora from Arl Howe's estate, and that should have put Zevran on his guard. They had gone in, cut down more than half of the Arl's men, killed Howe and gotten Anora out of the room she had been locked in. Then their luck had run out.

Standing in front of the main doors of the estate was Ser Cauthrien and several guards. They might have been able to handle the many guards surrounding them, but with the addition of at least two mages that he could see it would have been suicidal for their party to engage in a fight.

Even so, Zevran had done his best to convince Natia they should try. She had refused, saying that they hadn't gone through all this just to lose the Queen now. During their brief argument Alistair had just stood there, not saying anything one way or the other. Before either Zevran or Natia realized what was happening Alistair had stepped forward and surrendered. It was a foolish, naïve, _heroic_ gesture, and Zevran shouldn't have been surprised by it.

In quick order Natia and Alistair had been taken into custody and, to Zevran's great surprise, he and Leliana had been let go. If he lived to be a hundred, Zevran would never understand this Fereldan sense of honor and nobility. A Crow would have just slaughtered them all and been done with it.

But Cauthrien most likely didn't expect much retaliation. After all, who in their right mind would attempt to break into Fort Drakon?

Getting into the Fort had actually been fairly simple. Whether the guards were overworked or just were not very bright, Zevran wasn't sure. But he had been able to talk his and Morrigan's way into the main part of the Fort with little difficulty.

Once they were far enough inside they'd had to start fighting, but eventually they worked their way through to the cells. Natia was inside the cell nearest the door—she was bruised and a little battered, but she managed to stand when she saw them approaching.

"Where is Alistair?" Zevran asked as Morrigan unlocked the cell door using the key they'd found on one of the guards. Natia wordlessly pointed to a set of stairs leading down to a small chamber.

Zevran headed down the stairs, his heart beating in his chest. He noted with dread the blood stains on the walls and floor. Turning the corner he found an all too familiar device with a familiar figure laying on it. Zevran hurried over to the rack and began cutting the ropes binding Alistair to it.

"Zev," Alistair whispered, his voice hoarse, "I knew you'd come."

Only after Zevran had cut away the last of the ropes did he allow himself to look at Alistair's half-naked form. There was a large gash on his forehead that was caked with blood. Cuts and bruises of various degrees of severity covered his arms and legs, and there were what appeared to be several long burn marks across his torso.

When Alistair sat up Zevran saw the thin, criss-crossed markings on his back that indicated he'd been whipped more than once. Trying not to show the horror that he felt, Zevran began rubbing at Alistair's wrists and ankles to get the circulation back in them. "Can you walk, _caro_?"

Alistair nodded. "I think so. But I may need to lean on you a bit." He laughed shakily. Zevran helped the warrior to his feet, wincing as Alistair tried to stifle a cry of pain. He wished they had been able to bring Wynne along with them, but they had all agreed that their chances of getting in and out of the Fort would be better if just two of them went.

They slowly made their way up the steps to where Natia and Morrigan were waiting. "Is he alright?" Natia asked anxiously.

"We need to get him to Wynne," was all Zevran could manage to say.

Natia had already dressed in the borrowed guard's armor that she had been wearing when they were captured. She gestured to a large trunk by the door. "Your stuff's in there."

Alistair laughed bitterly. "There's no way I can get into that armor, it hurts to even move."

Zevran nodded, understanding. "Wear your breeks at least, _caro_. You cannot walk through the streets in just your smallclothes." He made an attempt at some levity. "Everyone would be leering at you, and I am much too jealous to allow that." His quip earned him the barest hint of a smile and Zevran felt a little relieved. Not completely broken, then.

Once Alistair had been dressed in his underclothes and boots they worked their way out of the Keep. The two women went in front, taking out any stray guards they had missed on the way in. Zevran tried not to feel any resentment over the fact that Natia had apparently been tortured much less than Alistair had.

It was a long, slow walk back to Eamon's estate. They had kept to the back alleys as much as possible so as not to draw attention to themselves. As soon as they arrived at the estate, Natia was yelling for Wynne.

The old healer hurried out into the main hall. "Maker's breath!" she cried, upon seeing Alistair's battered form. Natia's shouts had disturbed the household and soon enough a small crowd was gathered around them. They all followed Zevran as he helped Alistair into his room.

Once Alistair was settled on the bed Wynne shooed everyone out so she could get to work. She tried to get rid of Zevran as well—more because she greatly disliked him, rather than because she thought that he would get in her way—but he refused to go. He would not leave Alistair. He settled himself near the fireplace, trying to keep out of the way.

Despite Alistair's protests, Wynne cast a sleeping spell on him before beginning the process of healing his many wounds. It would take her quite some time to completely heal the man, he may as well rest while she was working.

Alistair and Natia had only been imprisoned for a day and a half, but that was more than enough time for skilled torturers to break a man, especially one as innocent as Alistair was. Zevran feared that that innocence might now be gone forever. What Zevran had once considered a weakness he now saw as one of Alistair's greatest strengths. The warrior's kindness and compassion stemmed from his ability to see the good in almost everything around him. It was what made Alistair, _Alistair_—and it hurt Zevran to think that he might no longer be the man he once was. It was just another thing that bastard Loghain would have taken from him.

But perhaps Zevran was worrying over nothing. Perhaps when Alistair awoke he would be perfectly fine. Zevran could only hope this would be the case.

More than an hour later Wynne finally finished with her healing. "He will be asleep for some time," she said, "you may as well leave him be." She made no attempt to hide her disapproval of Zevran. It was clear she blamed him for what had happened to Alistair, but he was used to that. She was certain that Zevran was a horrible influence on Alistair, and anything that went even remotely wrong was bound to be his fault alone.

"I will stay," Zevran said quietly, and moved to sit in a chair near the bed.

"Zevran, really—"

"I will stay," Zevran looked at her defiantly, daring her to force him out.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then abruptly turned and stalked out of the room.

oOoOo

It was nearly dawn when Alistair finally began to stir. Zevran had been sitting in his chair by the bed, waiting patiently. Patience was something he was good at. There had been many times in his career as an assassin when he had had to wait hours for the perfect opportunity to take out a mark.

Alistair opened his eyes and saw the elf sitting near him. "Zev?" he murmured.

Zevran leaned forward. "_Si, caro_." He took up Alistair's hand and squeezed it gently. "How are you feeling?"

Alistair chuckled mirthlessly. "I've been better, I can tell you that." His face hardened. "I am going to kill Loghain."

Zevra should not have been surprised at that, not after everything that had happened to the warrior. But it was still jarring to see the look of pure hatred that twisted his lover's face into something unrecognizable. "He _will_ pay," Zevran reassured him.

The moment passed and Alistair's usual earnest expression returned. "How's Natia?"

"She is fine," Zevran said. "A bit battered, but nothing that Wynne cannot fix, I am sure." Alistair nodded, satisfied.

Alistair tugged at the hand Zevran was still holding. "Come here." Zevran hesitated for just a moment before climbing into the bed. Alistair scooted over to make room for him, wincing slightly. The warrior curled up against him and rested his head on Zevran's chest. Zevran's arms came up to wrap protectively around the man.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Zevran asked quietly.

"No," Alistair said firmly, frowning.

"It might help," Zevran tried.

Alistair sighed. "It might, but I doubt it. There's really no point in going into the details."

Zevran nodded, understanding. Alistair knew that Zevran was there if he ever wanted to talk about it, but until then he would not force the warrior to relive what had happened to him.

Alistair tilted his head up so he was looking at Zevran. "I knew you'd come to get me."

Zevran smiled at him. "Of course, _caro_. I will always come for you."

They lay there in silence for a long time. Finally, Alistair spoke. "I'm sorry, Zevran."

Zevran blinked in surprise. "For what?"

Alistair sighed. "Oh, for lots of things, really. But mainly I'm sorry for misjudging you."

Zevran stared at the warrior intently. "I do not understand."

"I was wrong. When I refused to take your earring."

Zevran shifted uncomfortably. He was not good at discussing intimate things such as feelings and emotions, and he strongly suspected that was where this conversation was headed. "Alistair," he tried, "you have been through a lot. Perhaps this is not the best time—"

"It is," Alistair cut him off. "We're coming to the end of things, now, and this may be one of our last chances to just talk like this. I had a lot of time to think when I was at Fort Drakon," he smiled humorlessly, "it helped take my mind off of everything that was happening…"

He trailed off, his face darkening again. He shook his head as if to clear it. "There's things I need to tell you . I know you don't like talking about this kind of stuff, but I don't care. Not anymore. I'm tired of skirting around this. So you're going to sit here and you're going to listen to me. We don't ever have to talk about it again if you don't want to, but we're going to talk about it now. Okay?" He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for Zevran's answer.

Zevran sighed, resignedly. "As you wish."

He could feel the warrior relax. He pulled back so that he was facing Zevran, an intense gaze in his eyes.

"I love you," he said, quietly. "I've loved you for months, but I was too scared to tell you—I didn't want you to run."

Zevran forced himself to stay quiet, even though every instinct he had told him that he _should_ run. But something inside him knew that it was too late to flee, that he had missed—perhaps purposely—his chance to do so long ago.

"That's why I couldn't take the earring," Alistair continued. "It felt like you were treating me like…oh, like I was some sort of hired hand." He frowned. "Like if it had been Natia or Morrigan that had killed Taliesin, you would have offered them the same 'reward'."

Zevran ran a finger along Alistair's jaw. "That is not—"

Alistair cut him off with a shake of his head. "You promised you'd listen." He paused for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. "A lot of my Templar training had to do with combat, but most of it was about discipline. And one of the things I learned was how to deal with pain. You have to take your mind away, focus every bit of your thoughts on something else."

Zevran nodded, understanding. It was a technique he had learned as a Crow.

"That's what I did," Alistair said. "I focused on you. On your voice, your face…your touch. And the more I thought about you and what happened the night before we went to get Anora, the more I realized something." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You love me."

Sensing that Zevran was on the verge of speaking up, Alistair smiled and placed a finger on the elf's lips before cupping his face. "You love me just as much as I love you. And you _need_ me just as much as I need you.

"You don't have to say it, Zev," the warrior said, softly. "you don't ever have to say it, because I know it's true. And that's all that matters."

Zevran had not cried when Taliesin slit Rinna's throat. He had not, in fact, shed a single tear since the night almost twenty years ago when he had been ripped away from the only life he'd ever known and sold to an order of assassins. He had hardened himself, almost to the point of breaking.

But sitting here now, looking at Alistair's open, vulnerable face and listening to his words—he felt all of the walls he had so carefully built around him crumble into nothingness, and he felt his eyes stinging.

Unable to do anything else, unable to say the things he longed to say, he pulled Alistair into a long, passionate kiss. He poured all of his feelings, all of the unsaid words into the kiss, knowing that Alistair would understand.

An eternity later they broke the kiss, both men breathless. Alistair's face split into a grin that spread from ear to ear. "My ear isn't pierced…but I'd like to wear your earring." He bit at his lower lip a bit nervously. "If you still want me to, that is."

Zevran smiled reassuringly. "Of course, _amore_. After the Landsmeet we will pierce your—"

"No," Alistair said firmly, "_before_ the Landsmeet."

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "You would wear the favor of an assassin to a meeting that is going to decide the fate of an entire country?"

Alistair nodded. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Eamon will hate it," Zevran mused. He saw the gleam in Alistair's eye and began to grin. "You are a deliciously wicked man, do you know that?"

Alistair flashed another of his goofy smiles. "I told you, you're a bad influence on me."

Zevran recalled his earlier thoughts about Wynne, but he quickly pushed them down. Perhaps a bad influence was what Alistair needed.

"Speaking of the Landsmeet," he said, "what are you planning on doing?"

"About what?" Alistair asked, just a tad too innocently.

"Well, if we manage to sway the nobles to our side it is very likely that Natia will have a say in who will rule Ferelden." He looked pointedly at Alistair. "Which means that the decision about whether or not you take the throne will be yours to make. Natia would never force you into it."

Alistair sighed. "No, she wouldn't. But if I _do_ have to choose…" he ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, ruffling it slightly, "I honestly don't know what I'll do."

"Eamon wishes for you to take the throne," Zevran said, careful to keep his voice neutral.

Alistair snorted. "The only thing Eamon cares about is that I have Thierin blood. Well, that and he thinks I'd just be a puppet king who'd let him basically run the country."

Zevran was surprised. He, of course, had the same suspicions, but he didn't realize that Alistair felt the same. He always spoke well of the Arl, and even seemed to believe that the man had done his best by him. Perhaps he was not quite as naïve as Zevran had thought.

"So you will refuse the crown?" Zevran asked.

"I don't know," Alistair said, thoughtfully, "it's my duty as a Grey Warden to do what I can to end the Blight. Perhaps I can do that best by being king."

"Maybe for once in your life you could do what you _want_ to do," Zevran said gently. "rather than what you feel like you _have_ to do."

Alistair shrugged. "Maybe," he said in agreement. "Honestly, Zev, it doesn't really matter to me what I do. So long as you're with me—that's all that matters."

Zevran smiled at him. "I will be with you to the very end, _amore_, on that you may depend."

Alistair smiled as he pulled Zevran into his arms once more. "Then the rest will work itself out."

Zevran allowed himself to be pulled into another kiss, silently praying that this time things would turn out right—for both of them.

* * *

Amazingly enough, I do have a goal with this fic :) From here on out the chapters will most likely be sequential timeline-wise. That being said, I figure I'm at about the halfway point.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this story-you guys are awesome!


	6. Temptation

I know I said the rest of my chapters from here on out were going to be in chronological order timewise-but I lied :)

Timewise, this is set midway through the game, a month or two before Alistair and Zev's fateful night.

* * *

Alistair thrashed around in his bedroll, trying to get comfortable. He had been laying there for the last two hours, praying for sleep, but it was no good. He was beyond tense, and as hard as he tried, he just couldn't get himself to relax. It was the assassin's fault, of course.

It was supposed to have been a fairly easy day. They were camped at the base of the Frostback Mountains, just south of a little village called Haven. Natia had taken Sten, Morrigan, and Wynne up to the village to see if they could find Brother Genitivi; leaving Alistair and the rest of their motley crew to sit around camp and find ways to keep busy.

Leliana was discussing with Shale the finer points of Orlesian shoes, and Zevran was nowhere to be found. This bothered Alistair a bit, as he hated to let the assassin out of his sight. Even if Natia trusted the elf, he sure didn't. But he was damned if he was going to go traipsing all over trying to find him.

Alistair spent the morning gathering up firewood; even though it was the middle of the summer, being this close to the mountains meant the nights would be cold and harsh.

Sweaty and tired, he decided to head down to the stream they had camped near and clean up. As he got closer to the water he heard splashing, indicating he'd found where Zevran had disappeared to. Turning to go farther downstream so he could bathe in privacy, he caught sight of the Antivan's lithe form stepping from the water.

Maker! A tight cluster of trees more or less hid Alistair from sight; someone would have to be looking directly at him to see him. Luckily, Zevran wasn't. Curiosity got the better of the warrior, and he snuck another peek at the elf. He had always wondered how far down Zevran's tattoos really went, and he could see now that they truly did adorn a great deal of his body—just as he had told Leliana.

Zevran patted himself down lightly with a towel he had brought along, before stretching out on the flat surface of a large sun-warmed rock near the bank of the stream. Against his better judgment, Alistair took a moment to examine the figure in front of him.

For all of the assassin's faults, he truly was remarkable looking. Not having dried off completely, Zevran's honey-colored skin glistened in the sun. A few drops of water dripped from his nearly white-blond hair onto the stone beneath him. Alistair watched as Zevran ran a hand through those silky locks, using his fingers to comb out the tangles.

Alistair felt as if he had been hypnotized as his eyes followed Zevran's hand as it moved from his hair down to his chest, fingers trailing along his muscular stomach until they reached—oh, Maker! Those same slender fingers that had been combing through his hair were now trailing lightly along his…his _manhood_.

Alistair watched, entranced, as Zevran began stroking himself. He daren't move for fear of being discovered watching something so private, although he had a feeling Zevran wouldn't exactly object to having an audience. Obviously, or he would have gone someplace more private to "take care" of himself.

Alistair didn't think he'd be able to move anyway; he felt as if he'd been frozen to the spot by one of Morrigan's ice spells, though he was not cold. _Definitely _not cold.

He could feel himself blushing bright red, which seemed strange seeing as how all of the blood seemed to have gone straight to his…alright, to his cock. Maker, he wasn't a child, he was certainly old enough to call his most treasured body part by its name.

Suddenly Zevran groaned loudly, and Alistair was snapped out of his enchantment. Andraste's ass! What did he think he was _doing?_ No longer caring if he was discovered, he turned and practically ran back to the camp. Zevran returned some time later, but gave no indication that he had known of Alistair's presence by the stream. Alistair had not been able to look at the elf for the rest of the night.

And now, here he was hours later, unable to sleep due to the images lingering in his mind. Zevran's slender body stretched out enticingly on the rock; the dark swirls of ink tracing the hard lines of his muscles; the look of concentration mixed with ecstasy as he pleasured himself.

Maker's breath, he hated this man! How could visions of the elf possibly turn him on? Almost without realizing it, Alistair's traitorous hand crept down to the waistband of his breeks. He paused. This was wrong. This was definitely, _definitely_ wrong. Ignoring the fact that the person in question was a man, he was also an assassin that had been hired to murder himself and Natia.

Then again, Alistair thought, as the ache in his groin caught at his attention, it wasn't as if anyone would ever _know_. No one else was in the tent with him to see what he was doing, and certainly no one would be able to read his mind. Well, the sisters in the Chantry insisted that the Maker was always watching, but he could damn well keep his nose out of Alistair's private business, thankyouverymuch.

Knowing that this was a battle he was bound to lose, he finally gave in to temptation and slipped a hand inside his breeks. He mimicked Zevran's earlier actions and ran his fingers lightly, almost teasingly, along his swollen cock. Unable to prolong it any more, he wrapped his fingers around his erection. He bit at his lower lip to stifle a moan of pleasure as he began stroking himself.

Needing more room, Alistair pushed at his trousers until they were pooled around his ankles. Unbidden, thoughts of _Zevran's_ slim fingers around his cock swam into his mind. And suddenly it was Zevran stroking him, Zevran tightening his grip, Zevran using his other hand to squeeze his balls.

Alistair's eyes were pinched shut, trying desperately to transform the image in his mind into someone else—Leliana, maybe—but he couldn't. It was Zevran that his minds eyes were staring down at as the elf knelt at his feet, that wicked smile curving his lips.

The boys that he had grown up with in the monastery had had as little experience with sex as Alistair. But when he got older they began to train with the full-fledged Templars, and it was then that his true education had begun.

He was sixteen when he first found out about what one of the Templars called "oral pleasure," and he immediately decided that if he ever got the chance he would participate in that act as often as he could.

His pace increased as he remembered what the other man had told him. About how a woman would actually put your _cock_ in her _mouth_ and _suck_. The man had said one of the best parts was the build-up, when she'd wrap her lips around just the tip and flick her tongue. Alistair rubbed his thumb over the tip of his own cock, trying to imagine what it would feel like for a woman—no, for _Zevran_—to do that to him.

He planted his feet flat on his bedroll as he imagined Zevran's mouth around him; those full, beautiful lips, wet with saliva. He thought about what it would feel like, to thrust himself into the wet heat of Zevran's mouth and soon he was bucking his hips—thrusting upwards into his own hand, thrusting up into Zevran's mouth.

With a strangled cry he came, his seed spurting over his belly. He lay there, gasping for breath, one hand still around his softening cock and the other still cupping his balls. When he finally felt as if he'd regained his senses he grabbed a shirt that was laying nearby and cleaned himself off.

Turning over onto his side, Alistair's face burned. From shame or want, he did not know. Perhaps from both. At least, he told himself, no one would ever know. And if he was lucky, no one had heard the name that had escaped his throat as he reached orgasm: _Zevran_.


	7. The Landsmeet

So, I was about halfway through this chapter and had just gotten to the smut when I got a little stuck. I wanted to do something a little different this time, something that would emphasize how much Zev and Alistair's relationship had changed over the length of the story and how much trust they had built. But I couldn't think of what to do. And once again, the kmeme came to my rescue when someone asked for a fic about "edging." For those of you not familiar with the term, I'll give you a quick definition: Coming nearly close to climax or ejaculation,then purposefully stopping sexual stimulation in order to delay the same, so that the ultimate climax will be more intense.

This is probably the most hardcore thing I've posted on ffnet, though it's still pretty tame. Even so, if you feel that it might be a little more than you're comfortable with, I put a line break between the story and the smut. If you decide to quit reading when you get to it, don't worry, you won't be missing any plot.

* * *

The blade of the greatsword slid through the air and for the first time in over a year Alistair felt a sense of real peace. This was what he had been waiting for, what he had been working towards since that cursed night at Ostagar. Anora cried out as the blood of her father splattered her face, and the breaths of a hundred people were finally released.

Mere moments after Loghain's lifeless body hit the floor, Arl Eamon stepped forward. "So it is decided. Alistair will take his father's place on the throne." Immediately, the hall rang with voices alternately crying words of protest and support. The moment Alistair had been dreading all his life was here, and still he wasn't sure what to do.

He watched in silence as Anora began arguing with Eamon; Natia stood nearby, proclaiming loudly exactly what she thought of both of them. Alistair couldn't help but smile at that. His sister-in-arms had never been afraid to speak her mind—it was one of the things that made her such a good leader.

Silence reigned in the hall once again, and Alistair noticed that everyone was watching Natia. He knew there was not a soul alive in this room who believed that Eamon was acting altruistically when he asked Natia to be the deciding voice of who would rule Fereldan. It was one of the few things Loghain had been right about: Eamon wanted a puppet on the throne. But it would not be Natia that pulled the strings, it would be the Arl himself.

Alistair recalled Zevran's advice, given the day after he and Natia had escaped from Fort Drakon. _Do what you_ want_ to do, rather than what you _have_ to do._ He cast his eyes around the room and felt a sense of peace settle inside him at the sight of those familiar amber orbs watching him.

Natia turned to him, and he knew what she was going to ask of him. They had spoken of it—or, rather argued about it—for weeks. She would not name him king unless he agreed to it, but even after all of their conversations he had no answer for her. He had been honest with Zevran when he said he didn't know what to do. But it seemed that a part of him—hidden deep down, perhaps—had known all along what the right decision was.

Casting one last glance at Zevran, Alistair took a deep breath and stepped forward. Before Natia had a chance to open her mouth, to ask the same question she had already asked dozens of times, he was speaking. "Anora will be queen."

"_What_?" Eamon looked at Alistair as if he had lost his mind, and he heard Anora let out a tiny noise of triumph.

Alistair ignored Eamon's cries of protest and strode forward to kneel before Anora. Bowing his head, he tried to recall the fealty ceremonies he had watched as a child living with the Arl.

"I, Alistair Thierin, son of Maric Thierin, do hereby swear my loyalty to Anora, rightful Queen and ruler of Ferelden. I renounce all claims to the throne for myself and any heirs I may have. Never will I bear arms against Her Majesty or Ferelden. This I do swear."

His head still bowed, he tried to hide his growing smile. Let Eamon try to get him out of that one! The entire Landsmeet had heard his oath—he could not go back on it, even if he wanted to.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anora straighten her back, a lifetime of being a noblewoman overriding her obvious desire to strut. "I accept your oath of fealty, Alistair son of Maric, and bid you to aid me as a Grey Warden in defeating the Blight."

It was a wise statement for her to make at that moment. By emphasizing his role as a Grey Warden, Anora was reassuring her father's enemies that she did believe the son of Maric was still important to Ferelden—which would hopefully keep her from alienating those that had sided with him and Natia.

Alistair stood up shakily, trying his best to avoid everyone's looks. He only half-listened to Anora's further speech rallying the nobles and naming Natia as the new leader of her army. Alistair was once again in the shadows, for which he was grateful.

When Anora finally finished, she turned to Natia—clearly wanting her to give a speech of her own. Their diminutive leader—once a Casteless dwarf from Dust Town that had fought for scraps of food to stay alive—looked distinctly uncomfortable under the stares of so many important people.

She cleared her throat and said words that would most likely _not_ be put into one of Leliana's ballads. "Sod it all," she said gruffly, "let's go kick some arse!"

He heard a strangled cough off to his side and turned to see Zevran shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Zevran caught his eye and tipped him a small wink.

Finally, the formalities were over with and the gathered assembly began to leave. Before Alistair could follow suit, Arl Eamon was there at his side.

"Just what exactly do you think you are doing?" the elderly man hissed.

Alistair merely smiled at him. "Being selfish, for the first time in my life. It's actually quite a nice feeling." He bit back a laugh at the look of outrage on Eamon's face.

Flashing a sympathetic smile at Natia, who was currently being talked at by several nobles at once, Alistair went over to where Zevran was waiting for him.

"Eamon is never going to forgive you, _caro_." His eyes were glittering with amusement.

Alistair shrugged, not really worried. "I can live with that."

"So, you are leaving your fellow Warden to deal with the wolves by herself?"

Alistair chuckled. "I'd be more worried about them than about her. She's way scarier than any of them could ever be."

Zevran laughed. "That is true."

Alistair flung an arm over Zevran's shoulders, heedless of the many people nearby. He felt liberated, now that his worst fears had not come to pass, and it seemed as if a new life was ahead of him. No longer would he try to hide who he was or who he cared about. His self-consciousness was still there, of course, but he was determined to ignore it.

Zevran, of course, had no such hindrances. He wrapped his arms around Alistair's neck and pulled him down for a light kiss. "So, we are victorious against Loghain at last. How do you feel, _amore?_"

Alistair took some time to think before responding to his lover's question. "Relieved. We've still got the Blight to defeat, but I feel…lighter. As if a burden that's been sitting there for ages is finally gone. Does that make sense?"

Zevran nodded. "It does. You are finally free, are you not? If you and Natia succeed in defeating the Archdemon you can do whatever you wish."

Alistair grinned. "Whatever I wish. I like the sound of that."

Zevran grinned slyly. "I think, _amore,_ that this calls for a celebration."

Alistair grinned as he wrapped his arms around Zevran's lean waist. "Hmm…what did you have in mind?"

"Well…" Zevran's voice was practically a purr, "we could raid Eamon's wine cellar, find a nice vintage. And then," he shrugged, "I am sure we could find _something_ to do."

Alistair felt a tiny shiver roll through him. It would never have occurred to him in his youth that he would grow up to become so…so _wanton_, but Zevran always proved to be too irresistible. "How could I pass up an offer like that?"

Zevran drew away from the warrior and took his hand, practically dragging him out of the Landsmeet Chamber. The journey back to Eamon's estate seemed to take ages, especially since Zevran kept "accidentally" bumping against Alistair.

* * *

By mutual unspoken agreement they decided to forgo the bottle of wine and headed straight to Alistair's bedchamber. The door barely closed behind them before Zevran was undoing the buckles on Alistair's plate armor.

"You know," Zevran grunted, fighting with a particularly troublesome clasp on Alistair's breastplate, "this would be so much easier if you were a rogue. Leather armor is much simpler to remove."

"I like the plate armor," Alistair pouted, trying to help, "it's shiny. And it keeps me from getting a sword in the gut when I'm trying to protect your arse."

Zevran finally succeeded in getting the breastplate off and set to work on the greaves. "I have told you a hundred times, _amore_, you do not need to _protect_ me when we are fighting together. My arse is just fine."

Alistair grinned cheekily. "I'll say."

Zevran growled at him, but his sparkling eyes betrayed his mirth. "Do not distract me, I am trying to work here."

Alistair kept grinning, but stood in silence while Zevran worked to get him naked. Finally, mercifully, Alistair was down to nothing but his smallclothes. It was on the tip of his tongue to chastise Zevran for being less than careful in the discarding of his armor, but he decided against it. The two of them had not been intimate since before Fort Drakon, and both men were eager for this reconnection.

Alistair placed his hands on Zevran's slim waist, still clad in leather. "So, do I get to return the favor, now?" He asked, an impish smile on his face.

Zevran grinned at him. "Would you not rather watch, _amore_?"

Alistair looked at him hungrily and nodded. Zevran laced his hands behind Alistair's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Drawing back, Zevran kept his gaze focused on Alistair as he began unbuckling his own armor. Alistair leaned against the door and watched greedily as more and more of Zevran's tanned skin became exposed. Maker, but Zevran was beautiful.

Once Zevran was stripped down to his smallclothes Alistair wrapped his arms around him once again, and pressed their bodies together. He dipped his head down and brushed his lips against Zevran's.

"Since this is a special occasion," Zevran grinned slyly, pulling back enough to look in Alistair's eyes, "perhaps you would like to try something a little…different."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Different?"

Zevran nipped at Alistair's earlobe, causing the man to hitch in a breath. "You will like it, _amore_," he purred, "I promise."

Alistair looked at him a little warily. When Zevran got that look it meant he had something devious on his mind. But Alistair had come to trust him over the last few months, completely, and if Zevran said he'd like something then he had no doubt it would be worth placing himself in the rogue's hands.

He smiled at his lover. "Whatever you want, Zev. I trust you."

Zevran's eyes softened just a bit at that, before his usual lascivious grin returned. "Up on the bed with you, then."

Alistair obeyed, stretching out on the soft mattress. If there was one thing he'd truly miss about staying at the arl's estate here in Denerim, it was the down-filled mattresses and pillows. Pure heaven to a group that had spent the better part of a year living in tents.

He watched as Zevran rummaged around in his pack, curious as to what the man had planned. He was surprised when Zevran pulled out what appeared to be several sashes, such as the ones that mages wore around their waists to bind their robes closed.

Understanding finally dawned. "You're going to tie me up? Hah! I should have known." Zevran merely smiled as he crossed the room to the bed, sashes in hand. "Although," Alistair continued, "weren't you always talking about using ropes?"

Zevran climbed onto the bed and straddled Alistair's legs. "Ah, yes,ropes are very good to use. But, as this is your first time playing such games, you will find these to be more comfortable." One last twinge of nervousness ran through Alistair's body before he finally gave himself over to his lover.

After shucking his breeches, he stretched back out on the bed. He watched as Zevran used the sashes to first bind each of his wrists and then his ankles to the bedposts. "You know," Zevran said, casually, "ever since I first saw this bed I have wanted to do this to you." He grinned at Alistair. Having finished he looked over his lover's prone and bound form. "You are a gorgeous sight, _mi amore."_

Alistair blushed at that, still not used to Zevran's constant words of praise and affection. Even after being together for several months, Alistair still didn't quite understand how Zevran could find him, _Alistair_, so attractive. But there was no mistaking the look of desire on Zevran's face as he ran his eyes over Alistair's body.

Zevran crawled back onto the bed and seated himself next to Alistair's prone form. "You have been tense for many weeks now, my Warden" he purred, as he ran his fingers along Alistair's chest. "I intend to help you…_release_ that."

He straddled Alistair's hips again as he bent down to nip at the warrior's neck. "But in order for you to fully enjoy the release, I must create even more tension."

Alistair swallowed nervously. "Wh-what does that mean?" He did trust Zevran, of course, but he was always a bit unsure when his lover took him into new territory.

Zevran just grinned and began kissing his way down the warrior's body. Alistair squirmed a bit when Zevran reached his hips, the rogue's feather light kisses tickling his skin.

Alistair groaned as Zevran took his cock into his mouth, swallowing him to the hilt in one quick motion. Zevran teased him with his tongue as he worked his mouth up and down Alistair's erection, causing the warrior to moan with pleasure. Alistair could feel his balls tightening as he neared release and almost cried out in frustration as Zevran pulled back and sat up straight.

Alistair opened eyes that had been pinched shut. "Zev, what—?"

"Hush, _caro_, all in good time." He stretched out a hand and began pinching one of Alistair's nipples, rolling the bud between his fingers. Alistair pulled at the sashes binding his wrists, wanting desperately to pull the rogue down into a kiss.

Zevran, who seemed quite adept at reading Alistair's desires, bent down and pressed his lips against the other man's, flicking his tongue against Alistair's lips until he parted them with a moan. Taking the invitation, Zevran thrust his tongue into Alistair's mouth, kissing him deeply.

He felt Zevran's slender fingers close around his cock and begin stroking. A slow, steady rhythm surely meant to torture him. As if he hadn't been doing that enough already. Once again he felt himself nearing the precipice, and once again Zevran _stopped_.

But he didn't pull away from Alistair's body this time at least. Lips still locked in a passionate kiss, Zevran reached down between Alistair's legs and ran one finger around the tight ring surrounding his entrance. Alistair gasped at the sensation.

Zevran moved his kisses to Alistair's jaw line and then his neck, gently nipping at the skin as he waited for Alistair's breathing to slow. As soon as Alistair began to regain his senses, Zevran closed his fingers around him once again.

One hand still lazily stroking his erection, Zevran cupped Alistair's sac with the other, alternating each stroke with a gentle squeeze. Alistair heard a tiny sob and realized it had come from him.

"Zevran, please," Alistair whimpered. Every muscle in his body was tensed, every nerve singing with frustration. His eyes were shut tight, all of his senses focused on the movement of Zevran's skilled hands.

Zevran leaned down for another kiss, the rhythm of his hands never faltering. "What is it that you want, my Warden?"

Alistair opened his eyes and looked at Zevran intently. "I want to come," he panted. "_Please._"

Zevran's eyes were burning with lust. His lips twisted into a sly grin. "No," he replied.

Alistair blinked at him, not quite comprehending. "Zev, I don't—" he let out a loud groan as Zevran gave his cock a tight squeeze before releasing it. The other hand was still massaging his sac, however.

"I told you, _amore_," Zevran purred, "the more tension, the sweeter the release." He rubbed a hand up and down Alistair's chest, soothing him. "Your patience will be well rewarded," he smirked, "eventually."

_Eventually? Oh, Maker_. Shivers ran through Alistair's body as the realization struck him. He was truly at Zevran's mercy. His release was literally in the hands of the other man, and there was nothing Alistair could do about it. If Zevran wanted to tease him all night, he could.

He noticed for the first time that Zevran was still wearing his smallclothes. He also noticed the large bulge straining the front of them. Desire surged through him. Maybe _he_ couldn't have release, but surely Zevran wouldn't deny himself.

Alistair's eyes met Zevran's once again. "Can I…can I taste you?"

Zevran raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. He traced a finger along Alistair's jaw. "You wish to taste me?" Alistair nodded, licking his lips hungrily.

Zevran looked at him with an equal amount of hunger before twisting around to remove his smallclothes. He then crawled up Alistair's body until he was straddling the man's upper chest. With one hand braced against the tall headboard he cupped the back of Alistair's head with the other, bringing his head level with the rogue's groin.

Alistair could feel the throbbing in his own cock as he wrapped his lips around the tip of Zevran's. He groaned softly as Zevran rocked his hips just slightly, encouraging Alistair to take more of him into his mouth.

Alistair sucked at Zevran's cock greedily, his own intense need driving him to pleasure his lover as much as he could. Zevran's moans were punctuated by a few curses spoken in Antivan, revealing to the warrior that he was successful in his endeavors.

Zevran's hips began to thrust faster as he neared his climax, and Alistair moaned at the sensation. With one last, loud moan Zevran released into Alistair's mouth, who swallowed every drop with relish.

After several moments, Zevran pulled back. "You are full of surprises, _amore_," he murmured before kissing the warrior. Alistair smiled around the kiss, pleased with himself.

Careful not to brush against Alistair's painfully hard cock, Zevran shimmied further down his body. He placed a firm kiss on the tip of Alistair's erection before nipping at the inside of his thigh. He ran his fingers lightly up and down the warrior's shaft, his touch teasing. Alistair moaned at the renewed contact.

When Zevran finally closed his fist around Alistair's cock he couldn't help but thrust his hips up into the rogue's hand. Zevran began stroking him in earnest, his grip firm and his strokes harsh. But every time Alistair got close he backed off. A few squeezes, a pull or two, and then he would let go. Over and over and over again. There was never a moment when Zevran wasn't touching him, however. Whether it be a tweak at his nipple or a finger stroking his entrance—he was always in contact with Alistair's skin in one way or another.

Alistair's toes were curled into the sheets and it took all of his self control to keep from tugging harshly at his restraints. He was sobbing openly now, begging Zevran to please, _please_ let him come. His mind was empty of everything except the pleasure and the _need_ that Zevran was coaxing from the man with his hands.

Zevran's voice was soothing as he whispered words of encouragement to his lover, rubbing gently at his chest as he stroked his cock once again. The excruciating ecstasy went on for what felt like hours. Countless times Alistair teetered on the precipice of orgasm only to be denied each and every time.

His voice was hoarse from the groans and pleas that were issuing from his lips, and his mouth felt dry and parched.

An indeterminate time later, Zevran stopped his ministrations completely, moving both hands to cup Alistair's cheeks. "You have been so good, _mi amore_, so brave. Do you wish to have your reward now?"

"Yes, Zev!" Alistair sobbed, "Oh, Maker, please, _please_, I can't stand it anymore!" His eyes were locked with Zevran's, and he knew the desperation he was feeling was etched on his face.

Zevran grasped Alistair's cock for the hundredth time that night, it seemed. Only this time his strokes were firmer and faster than ever before. After suckling the index finger of his other hand, Zevran reached down and pressed the digit into Alistair's entrance. He timed the thrust of his finger with the stroke of his hand, pushing deeper inside until he was rubbing against that sensitive spot deep inside.

Alistair screamed as the force of his orgasm exploded through his entire body. Wave after wave of ecstasy pulsed through him, as every single muscle tensed and his limbs pulled at the sashes around his wrists and ankles. What seemed like an endless flow of come shot from his cock, coating his stomach and Zevran's hand.

Tears were streaming down his face as he gasped desperately for air; he felt physically and emotionally drained. He barely noticed when Zevran used a cloth to clean him up, nor when the rogue released him from his bonds.

He came back to himself slowly, and he felt Zevran lay down beside him. He turned onto his side and buried his face in Zevran's soft blond hair, his body still shaking from the aftershocks of his release. His breathing calmed as he inhaled his lover's scent, and he lay cradled in Zevran's arms as the rogue whispered soothing nonsensical words into his ear.

Long minutes passed until he finally tipped his head up to look at Zevran. The other man was looking at him, just a touch of concern on his face. Alistair managed a small smile. "That was…" he tried to find the words to explain how he felt, "_amazing_!" he finished lamely.

Zevran laughed at that. "I am glad that you enjoyed yourself." He ran his fingers through Alistair's short hair as he pulled the man into a warm kiss. Both men were breathless when they finally parted.

Alistair looked at him slyly. "So," he said, "when we do this next time, would you prefer ropes or sashes?"

Zevran grinned at him. "I believe I shall let you decide."


	8. In the Dark of Night

I very rarely do anything with Morrigan during my playthroughs, usually just leaving her behind in camp and ignoring her. As a result, I have a hard time writing her. But I sort of felt I had to take some liberties with her speech here, because I didn't want this to turn into a word-for-word transcript of the game dialogue.

* * *

Alistair felt like he had aged forty years in the space of an hour. Riordan's words clanged through his mind, and the fear and doubt he had let go of upon Loghain's death came back to him tenfold.

Zevran, Oghren and Leliana had snuck off to one of the nearby taverns while Natia and Alistair stayed to talk to Eamon and then Riordan. Alistair was wishing fervently that he had joined them. Instead, he found himself wandering to his room alone.

He had just changed out of his armor into breeches and a shirt when Zevran walked in the door, smelling very faintly of ale. "Ah, you missed a very enjoyable evening, _amore_," Zevran said as he wrapped his arms around Alistair's waist. "I _almost_ convinced Leliana to dance on a table for me. Alas, I did not succeed."

He seemed to finally notice Alistair's darkened mood. "What is wrong, _amore_? Did Eamon say something to you?" His brow was furrowed in irritation. Alistair knew that the irritation was directed towards Eamon, Zevran had made no secret of his dislike of the Arl.

Alistair sat down on the edge of the bed. "The Darkspawn are headed to Denerim," he said quietly. "They'll be there in two days. And we can't get there that fast enough. Even if we leave at first light tomorrow, our army just can't move that fast." He clenched his hands in frustration.

Zevran sighed. He sat down on the bed next to the warrior. "What does Natia think of all this?"

Alistair chuckled. "She wants the two of us to leave right now, of course. But even if we got there faster than our army could, I seriously doubt that the two of us could take down an entire Darkspawn horde. And," he swallowed, "the Archdemon's there. Riordon sensed it."

He had kept few of the Warden's secrets from Zevran, other than the details of the Joining. He'd woken his lover up too many nights with his nightmares to be able to keep the truth from him. But he didn't think he was going to be able to tell Zevran what else Riordan had said. It was just too much.

Zevran wrapped his arms around his lover. "We will do our best, _caro mio_. I have faith in you and Natia."

Alistair smiled. "You know, when we first met I didn't think you'd ever give a damn about what we were doing here. Back then, I thought all you cared about was saving your own skin and staying hidden from the Crows."

Zevran sighed. "That is how I felt for a long, long time I admit. But something happened that changed how I felt." Alistair looked at him questioningly. "You happened, _amore. _I wanted to die when first we met, and now because of you I want to live." Zevran smiled at the warrior. "So long as I can live with you, that is."

Alistair swallowed hard around the lump that had formed in his throat. He knew he had to tell Zevran the truth. He owed it to the man. "Zevran, I…" he paused, trying to find the right words.

Before he could continue, there was a knock at the door. He looked at Zevran, his eyebrows raised. Zevran shrugged and went to answer the door. It was Natia, looking grimmer than Alistair had ever seen her before. He moved to stand beside Zevran. "Is everything okay?"

"Morrigan needs to talk to you," she said, frowning.

Alistair looked at his friend in surprise. "Morrigan wants to talk to _me_? What for?"

Natia scowled. "Oh, she doesn't _want_ to talk to you. But she's damn well going to. I'm not gonna to be her sodding messenger."

Knowing he wasn't going to get any more from his friend, Alistair sighed and grabbed his boots. "Alright, but this better be important." Natia shrugged, her expression unreadable.

He followed Natia down the hall to the room she shared with Morrigan. The witch was standing by the fire, her back turned to them. Natia closed the door quietly and leaned against it, her arms crossed.

When it became apparent that Morrigan wasn't planning on speaking anytime soon, Natia cleared her throat.

Morrigan turned to her, scowling. "I fail to see why you cannot tell him yourself," she snapped.

Natia glared at her. "Because it's your sodding ritual."

Alistair was thoroughly confused now. "What are you talking about? What ritual?" He looked from Natia to Morrigan, waiting for an explanation.

Morrigan sighed. She looked at Alistair, finally acknowledging his presence. "'Tis old magic, of which I am sure you would not approve. But," she paused, "it will save your life. And the life of your fellow Warden."

She moved over to the bed and sat down on it gracefully. "I know what happens to Grey Wardens when they fight an Archdemon, you see. I know that one of you will die. I also know that it does not need to be."

Alistair shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, you stupid oaf!" Morrigan spat, her anger was even closer to the surface than usual, it seemed.

Natia snorted. "Good way to get him on your side."

Morrigan lowered her gaze, looking chagrined. "You are right, of course. I…apologize."

This must be serious, if Morrigan was actually apologizing for insulting him. "Look," Alistair said, his voice weary. It had been a long day. "You have about two minutes to tell me what's going on our I'm going to bed."

Morrigan turned her cat-like eyes on him once again. "I know of a ritual. One that must be performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night." Alistair didn't like how ominous her voice was getting.

She paused a moment. "You must lay with me," she finally said, "here, tonight."

Alistair felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Surely this was a dream, this couldn't be happening. Morrigan was actually asking him to—? But she _hated_ him.

Natia's voice cut through the cloud of confusion that had surrounded him. "Tell him what will happen, _dear_." The word sounded like an insult coming from her. "Tell him everything."

Morrigan glared at her. Apparently there were quite a few details Morrigan would rather withhold from him, but Natia was determined to make the witch tell him everything.

"A child will be born," Morrigan grudgingly admitted, "one with the soul of an Old God."

"_What?"_ Alistair was stunned. "You want me to _impregnate_ you? Have you lost your bloody mind?" Alistair cast his eyes around the room, finally spotting a chair near the hearth. He plopped down into it moments before his legs would have given out.

Morrigan scowled. "I assure you, I am quite sane." She leaned forward. "When the Archdemon dies, its soul passes to the nearest 'vessel', does it not? If it is a darkspawn, the Archdemon will simply be reborn; but if it is a Grey Warden, its soul will be destroyed."

Alistair put his head into his hands, shaking his head in confusion.

"This ritual," Morrigan continued, "will cause the Archdemon's soul to pass into the child. Its soul will be...absorbed by the child. The Archdemon will die, and the child will live."

Alistair started laughing uncontrollably. "This is a joke, right? Payback for all things I've done to you." He looked from Morrigan to Natia. "You _are _joking. Aren't you?"

Morrigan glared at him. "This is no joke."

Alistair grinned at Natia, still not willing to believe what Morrigan was saying. "I think your lover has lost her mind."

"She's not my lover," Natia's face darkened. "Not anymore." For a brief moment, Alistair thought he saw a look of regret on Morrigan's face.

Suddenly he realized that they were both serious. "This is absolutely insane!" He glared at the witch. "What makes you think I would even _consider_ doing this?"

Morrigan made an impatient noise. "You would be a fool not to accept my offer. You gave up the throne willingly, did you not? So that you could achieve something even greater for the Wardens." She stared hard at Alistair. "What greater purpose could you have than killing the Archdemon. Would you have Natia do this? Would you give her the glory—"

"This is not about glory," Alistair shouted. "This is about saving Ferelden!"

"If you do not want the glory, then there is no point in sacrificing yourself!" She snapped at him. "I am telling you that you can save Ferelden without either of you having to die. Truly, you have nothing to lose."

Alistair laughed bitterly. _Nothing to lose. Right._ "And what will happen to the child?" He asked hoarsely, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I will take the child with me after the battle is over, and you will not see either of us again."

Alistair glared at her. "That doesn't answer my question, and you know it."

Morrigan sighed. "I will raise the child away from the rest of the world. I will teach it to respect the old ways. Beyond that, you need not know."

"What does that even mean?" Alistair asked, frustrated. Morrigan shrugged, and looked away. He knew he wouldn't be able to get any more out of her about the child.

He looked at his best friend pleadingly. "What do you think I should do?"

Natia shook her head sadly. "It doesn't matter what I think. This is something you have to decide for yourself." She walked over to Alistair, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Morrigan didn't want me to tell you about the child, she wanted me to use our friendship to convince you to do this without you knowing everything. But I won't." Her face hardened. "I may be a lot of things—a liar, a thief—but I'm not deceitful. You need to know everything. And you need to make this choice by yourself. I can't help you, _salroka_."

Alistair's mind was reeling; this was just too much for him to take in. How could he make a decision like this? And why couldn't Natia help him with it? This would affect her as much as himself. It was things like this that had made him so unwilling to be king. He didn't want to have to be responsible for other people's lives.

An eternity seemed to pass before Morrigan finally broke the silence. "We do not have all night," she huffed. "If you will not do this for yourself or for Natia, then do it for Zevran. How do you think he would feel if the man he loved died? And not only that, how would he feel if he knew that the sacrifice did not even need to be?"

Alistair shot to his feet, his fists clenched. "Don't you dare bring Zevran into this!" He hissed. "This has nothing to do with him!" But even as he said this, he knew that Morrigan had scored a hit. He knew how Zevran would feel if Alistair died. The best scenario would be that he would revert to his old ways, and that everything good Alistair had instilled in him would be lost forever. The worst case scenario was that it would utterly destroy him.

And with that thought Alistair made his decision. He would gladly die to save Ferelden. He even would die to save Natia. But he couldn't leave Zevran, he couldn't let the man he loved suffer such devastation.

"Alright," he said quietly, "I'll do it."

Morrigan smiled triumphantly. "Then let us go somewhere more private," she purred.

Alistair nodded mutely. His body felt completely numb. A thought occurred to him. "I don't know—" he cleared his throat nervously. "I don't know if I can...get in the mood." His face flushed red at this embarrassing confession.

Morrigan smiled coyly. "Oh, do not worry about that. I assure you I am very skilled." She ran her hand down Alistair's arm before grasping his hand.

As Morrigan led him out of the room, Natia grabbed at the witch's arm. "I will never forgive you for this."

Morrigan actually looked sad. "I know."

What felt like hours later, Alistair crept quietly into his bedroom, praying that Zevran had not waited up for him. He winced when the door clicked shut.

"Alistair?" By the moonlight shining in through the window, he could dimly make out Zevran's form laying in bed.

"Sorry," Alistair said quietly, "I didn't mean to wake you." He pulled off his boots and crawled into bed, too exhausted to undress completely.

He felt Zevran's fingers running through his hair. "Why is your hair wet?" he asked.

Alistair grimaced. "I took a bath. Several baths, in fact."

Zevran gave him a questioning look. "And why did you feel the need to take a bath in the middle of the night? Did you and Morrigan get dirty together?" His voice was teasing.

Alistair said nothing. There were tears in his eyes, but he was trying hard to not let them fall. It wasn't as if he feared Zevran would think him weak for crying, it was just that he didn't know if he'd be able to stop once he started.

His throat felt dry. "Morrigan and I…had a fight, and I felt like relaxing 's all." He couldn't bear to meet Zevran's eyes. He knew he was a terrible liar.

Zevran propped himself on one elbow and looked down at his lover. "This is the second time tonight that you have been upset,_ caro," _his voice was soft, but firm. "And it is the second time that you have not told me everything that is going on. Do you no longer trust me?"

Alistair was startled. "It's not that at all. I _do_ trust you, Zev." He reached up to caress his lover's cheek. "But I—I don't want to burden you with all this."

"I will carry any burden you have,_ mi __amor., _Gladly."

Alistair shook his head sadly. "I know. But you can't carry this one, Zevran. It's mine alone."

Zevran's face was creased with worry. He placed his hands on both sides of Alistair's face."Alistair. Tell me what is wrong."

The look of concern on Zevran's face broke Alistair's heart. He knew that Zevran loved him, but for Zevran to let his guard down enough to let Alistair see his vulnerability was a rare thing.

So Alistair told Zevran everything. He told him about the secrets that Riordan had revealed to himself and Natia; about Morrigan's proposal; about the ritual that he and Morrigan had performed, and the child that would be—that _had been—_conceived.

When he was finished he looked up at Zevran, his face anguished. He waited for words of condemnation from the other man, anger for being unfaithful, for doing something as idiotic as listening to Morrigan. But Zevran said nothing.

Finally Alistair could stand the silence no longer. "Do you hate me, Zev?"

Zevran looked at him with surprise. He pulled Alistair into his arms. "Of course not, _amore_, I could never hate you." He looked at Alistair reassuringly. "How can I hate you for what you did? For what Morrigan did?" He ran his fingers through Alistair's soft blond hair. "I _am_ a bit jealous that you did not ask me to join the two of you, though." He chuckled lightly, and Alistair grimaced.

"You didn't miss much, believe me. I think it lasted all of five minutes." His face flushed a little. "It was a little harder than I thought it would be. To be with a woman, I mean."

Zevran laughed at that. "Well, I should think it is _supposed_ to be rather hard. If it is done well, that is." He leered at his lover.

Alistair rolled his eyes, catching Zevran's meaning. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

Zevran's expression turned serious once again. "You made the right choice tonight, _mi amore,_ never doubt that. I am willing to bear a little jealously if it means I get to keep you with me." His voice was filled with tenderness.

And just like that, the dam broke. Alistair's body shook with the sobs that were wrenched from him. Fat tears rolled down a face contorted with anguish, as his voice broke with his howls of despair. He felt Zevran's arms tighten around him, heard Zevran's voice soothing him, telling him that it was alright to cry.

And he did. He cried for Duncan and Cailan, and all the Wardens that had died at Ostagar. He cried for the people in Denerim that would die because they could not bring their armies fast enough. He cried for what he had had to do tonight. But most of all, he cried for his child. The child he would never get to meet; the child he would never know.

* * *

Welp, we're getting close to the end boys and girls. Barring any distractions I figure there's going to be one or two more chapters and a short epilogue. I'm hoping to get this finished within a couple of weeks at the most, so that I can focus on 'Unseen Forces.' Many thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read this, and thanks to everyone that's given a review!


	9. The Beginning of the End

The forced march had been brutal and seemingly without end, but they had finally reached the gates of Denerim. It was a strange sight to be sure. Dwarves, elves, and mages all joined together for this one last battle. Everyone was exhausted, and morale was dwindling. Alistair suggested to Natia that they give a speech, something to encourage the troops.

And so Alistair found himself standing on a platform, looking down at the men and women that had chosen to follow two Grey Warden outcasts. The words came easier than he thought they would. For all that he didn't want to rule, he was still a Thieren—and the ability to motivate armies ran in the family.

He pulled Natia up on the platform with him, determined to make sure everyone knew that she was the reason they were all still here, still alive. By the time he was finished with his speech, the troops were cheering. Cheering! He couldn't believe it. With one last mighty war cry he urged the armies forward, into the fiery hell that Denerim had become.

Once inside the main gates, Alistair lost sight of nearly everyone in their crew of misfits. The smoke from the many fires and the swarms of darkspawn descending from all sides made it impossible for him to see anything around him. He felt a small measure of comfort that he could hear Oghren bellowing off to his right, and Natia swearing up a storm just behind him. He strained his ears to hear Zevran's voice, but there was nothing. Not surprising, really; Zevran relied on stealth to take down his enemies.

There came a time, finally, when there were no more darkspawn left to kill. The courtyard was littered with the bodies of darkspawn and soldiers alike. He searched for his companions, needing to know that they were alright. He caught a glimpse of Morrigan and quickly looked away. He hadn't spoken to the witch, hadn't even looked at her, really, since he had left her room that night.

Alistair shook his head in irritation. He wouldn't allow himself to think about that. He had made his choice and he would live with it, for better or for worse. There was no point in dwelling on what had happened that night, especially not right now—he had to focus on the present.

Riordan's gravelly voice called out like a beacon. Alistair followed the Orlesian Warden's voice until he found the man, most of the party members already gathered around him. To his great relief, he saw Zevran walking towards them. When Zevran reached him, Alistair embraced him in a quick hug. He allowed Zevran to tighten his hold briefly before stepping back.

He couldn't help but notice that Natia was standing as far away from Morrigan as she possibly could and still be near the others. He had talked with his sister-in-arms during the march. She had apologized to him for getting him involved. She hadn't wanted to tell him about Morrigan's crazed plot, but she didn't think it right to turn down the witch without consulting him first. After all, she said, it was his decision to make, not hers. And if he were to die without ever knowing that there had been another way—she'd never be able to forgive herself.

"What would you have done, if you were in my place?" he had asked her.

Natia sighed as she shook her head. "I don't know, honestly. I loved Morrigan...you may not understand that, but I really did." Natia gazed off into the distance. "But after she told me how this ritual was the reason she had come along with us in the first place..." her expression hardened, "there's no way I would _ever_ be able to touch her again."

She said no more about it after that, and they walked in a comfortable silence as they had so many other times on their long journey. They didn't speak of the ritual that had been performed, nor did they discuss who would deal the final blow against the Archdemon.

"You've changed," Natia had told him, disrupting the silence.

"Yes, well, I couldn't keep wearing the same socks forever." Alistair grinned.

Natia scowled at him. "That's not what I meant and you know it. A year ago, you were just this frightened boy that refused to make any decisions for himself."

Alistair didn't refute her claim. He knew she was right in her estimation of who he used to be.

"It's because of him, isn't it?" She asked.

Alistair nodded. He knew she meant Zevran. "Part of it is, yes." He tried to explain his feelings. "Zevran doesn't expect anything from me. He doesn't judge me, not anymore anyway. We're more alike than I thought. We've both spent our entire lives letting other people make our decisions for us, telling us what to do. I guess...seeing how hard it was for him to take charge of his own life made me realize that I needed to take charge of _my_ life."

Natia smiled at him fondly. "You're good for each other." Her expression became wistful. "Don't let him go."

Alistair grinned. "I don't plan to."

* * *

Alistair looked up at the darkening sky that was tinted red from the flames that engulfed many parts of the city. He removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow as he listened to Riordan's plan. Riordan's rather far-fetched plan.

"The top of Fort Drakon? You want us to draw the dragon's attention?" Alistair was skeptical.

Riordan looked grim. "I fear it is the only way. It's going to be dangerous as it is. I can sense at least two generals nearby, though I don't know where." He turned to Natia. "A small group will have a better chance of surviving. I suggest taking Alistair and no more than two others with you." Riordan said.

Natia nodded in agreement. "Wynne, Leliana—you're with us."

Alistair caught Zevran's eye as he stepped forward. "My dear Warden," Zevran said smoothly, "it seems you have forgotten me."

Natia shook her head. "You're staying here to help hold the gates. We'll have enough darkspawn ahead of us, we don't need a whole mess of 'em behind us as well."

"But, why do I have to—"

"Because I bleedin' well say so!" Natia's tone brooked no further argument. "Sten," she looked over at the large qunari, "I'm leaving you in charge here."

Sten inclined his head respectfully. "As you wish, Kadan."

As the rest of their companions gave their well-wishes to Natia, Alistair pulled Zevran off to the side to speak with him. He hated the fact that the two of them would be separated for this final battle.

He cupped Zevran's cheek with one gauntleted hand, and tried to figure out how to say what might be the last words he ever spoke to his lover.

"I don't want to say goodbye to you, Zev. But I don't know if we'll...I mean even if Morrigan's ritual does work, it's still not a guarantee that we'll come out of this alive, and—"

Zevran raked his fingers through Alistair's short blond hair. "You should let your hair grow out," he said.

"What?" Alistair was startled by this change in topic.

"It is too short. If it were longer I could tangle my fingers in it while we are making love." Zevran smiled at him lasciviously.

Alistair looked at him exasperatedly. "Zevran, I'm trying to be serious here."

"You will be fine, amore," Zevran looked at him fondly. "I know it. You and Natia will slay the Archdemon and end the Blight. We have come this far, we will not fail now." He smiled. "Ask Leliana—all of the greatest tales end in the heroes triumphing over evil."

Alistair sighed. He didn't know if Zevran really meant those words, or if he was in denial of what might happen. "We're not heroes, Zev. Natia and I are just a couple of hapless Wardens who got really, really lucky."

"You are a hero to me," Zevran said quietly. "Never doubt that."

Cupping the back of Alistair's neck, Zevran leaned forward until their foreheads were resting against each other. "I—" he seemed to be struggling with his words. He drew back so that he was looking Alistair in the eye. "I love you, Alistair."

Alistair didn't bother to hide the grin that threatened to split his face in half. "I knew I'd get you to say it. If I'd known all it would take was to face down a huge dragon, I'd have done it ages ago." For once there was no playfulness in Zevran's eyes. Alistair's smile softened. "I love you, too, Zev. I always will."

He leaned in to brush their lips together, but when he tried to break the kiss Zevran tightened his grip. The kiss quickly deepened, both of them pouring their love for each other into this one, passionate gesture. Alistair ignored the thought that this may be the last time he would ever kiss his lover and instead just let himself get lost in the moment.

He buried his face in Zevran's neck and breathed in the scents of the rogue: leather, sweat, and a hint of some exotic spice. He cursed the plate armor he wore that prevented him from feeling Zevran's soft body pressed up against him. He placed one last quick kiss upon Zevran's lips before releasing his hold on the other man. He went to where Natia was waiting for him, refusing to look back. It was time to finish this, one way or the other.

* * *

The next few hours passed like a nightmare. The horror that Denerim had become rivaled the Black City itself. They fought their way through hordes of darkspawn—hurlocks, genlocks, and dozens of ogres—all the while listening to the screams of the wounded and dying.

They found and killed the two generals of the Archdemon, but not without great sacrifice. The Wardens called on their allies to fight by their side, and watched helplessly as the armies' numbers dwindled with each skirmish.

Alistair had learned long ago to lock his fear away and focus on the fighting, and he was quite good at it. There was only one time when his nerve threatened to break: they had reached Fort Drakon at last, when movement high above them caught their eye.

The Archdemon was flying high over the rooftops, and it seemed to be distracted by something. The tiny figure on its back seemed to be causing it problems. As they watched the dragon gave a great bellow and managed to dislodge its unwanted passenger. As the two Wardens watched in horror, Riordan fell from the dragon's back and slammed into the ground with a sickening thud.

Riordan's death had not been in vain, at least. The dragon had been wounded enough that it was no longer able to fly. It crashed down onto the roof of the Fort, their very destination. Perhaps the Maker was watching over them after all.

They fought their way through floor after floor of darkspawn, slowly making their way towards the roof. Alistair nearly started laughing when he saw Bodhan's son Sandal standing placidly in one of the upper floors, darkspawn corpses piled around him. He bit down hard on his tongue, though, knowing his desire to laugh was driven more by hysteria than the humor of the situation.

Finally the door to the roof was in front of them. He placed a hand on Natia's shoulder and looked at his friend. "Look, in case we don't get another chance—thanks. For everything. You're the best friend I ever had."

She punched him playfully on the shoulder. "Come on, _salraka_, let's kill this son of a bitch." Alistair nodded resolutely. He helped Natia push open the heavy double doors.

Both of the Wardens had seen the Archdemon in countless dreams, and they had seen it from afar both in the Deep Roads and earlier tonight flying over Denerim. But neither of those things prepared them for the sight of the enormous dragon up close. They watched in horror as the guardsmen were hurtled through the air, their broken bodies dashed against the parapets or crushed beneath the massive paws of the dragon.

Alistair concentrated on Natia's voice, listening to her instructions. Wynne would stay back and focus on healing, Leliana would find high ground from which to loose her deadly arrows, and he and Natia would flank the beast.

They worked quickly and effectively as a team, slowly wearing the dragon down bit by bit. It was only when it started to call its minions to its side that things began to get rough. Alistair and Natia hacked at the darkspawn when the dragon flew out of the reach of their blows, leaving it to Leliana and Wynne to damage it from afar.

It was too much. There were too many enemies to fight, and not enough allies to aid them. They were slowly being overwhelmed, just fighting to stay alive. Alistair's seemingly endless stamina was failing him, and he could see Wynne downing vial after vial of lyrium.

Suddenly, just as Alistair's strength was failing him, the dragon flew back within reach. With an ear-shattering war cry, Natia hurled herself up onto the dragon's head. She raised her sword high and plunged it down into the dragon's skull before vaulting off of it and rolling onto the ground.

The Archdemon shrieked with rage and pain, its gigantic tail sweeping around to knock himself and Natia to the ground. Alistair struggled to stand up, his legs threatening to give way. He saw Natia race past him, pausing only to pull a heavy greatsword from the body of a fallen hurlock. Running as fast as she could, she reached the wounded Archdemon in mere seconds.

Time seemed to slow as Natia paused, looking at the dragon beneath her before slamming the greatsword down on its neck with a shriek of triumph. The world went white as a huge pulse of energy hurled them all backwards several feet. Alistair struggled to raise his head as the blinding whiteness quickly faded to black, and he knew no more.

* * *

Zevran cried out when he saw the explosion atop Fort Drakon. Sliding his dagger through the belly of the genlock he had been battling, he ignored the cheers of triumph around him. He pushed his way through the throng, fighting to reach the Fort.

His fear spurred him onward as he raced through the halls of the Fort until he burst out onto the rooftop. He looked around him frantically, trying to find Alistair. He caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Alistair laying motionless on the ground.

Zevran ran over to Alistair's prone body and fell to his knees beside the warrior. Pulling off the warrior's helm, Zevran grimaced at the sight of the blood caked on his scalp. Alistair's eyes remained closed even as Zevran shook him.

"Alistair," Zevran whispered, "amore, please wake up." He ran his finger over the jeweled earring that Alistair wore. He barely noticed when Natia came up beside him, focusing all his attention on the man that he loved.

Zevran growled in frustration, shaking Alistair's shoulder even harder. "I will never forgive you if you do not come back to me," his voice was tinted with desperation. "You cannot leave me, not now." He nearly wept with relief as he saw Alistair's eyes flutter open.

"Zev?" Alistair looked at him muzzily. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to focus on the other man. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding the gates?"

Zevran smiled at him. "The gates are safe, _amore_, as are we." He looked up at Natia, then back to Alistair. "It seems that we have won."

Understanding finally dawned in Alistair's eyes. "We did it? We're safe?" Zevran nodded. Alistair smiled as he reached up to touch Zevran's face. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Zevran chuckled. "My dear Warden, you should know by now that you cannot get rid of me that easily. I am afraid you are stuck with me."

Alistair laughed as he pulled Zevran down to him, kissing him passionately. "Good to know."

Zevran heard Leliana giggle from somewhere behind him, and he couldn't help but grin. Natia cleared her throat. "I hate to break up this tender moment and all, but we should probably go tell everyone it's over."

Zevran pulled back from his lover reluctantly. He helped Alistair to his feet, wincing each time the man grunted in pain. "Let's go," Alistair grinned at Natia. "I'm sure everyone's going to want to thank our illustrious hero."

Natia glared at her friend. "If you ever call me that again, Alistair, I'll make the Archdemon look like a pussycat." Both Zevran and Alistair started laughing as they headed for the stairs and the waiting crowd.


	10. Hopping Borders

Here we are at last! Fun fact: It wasn't until I was writing this final chapter that I remembered the conversation that Zevran has about "hopping borders" is actually with Shale, who I unintentionally left out of this story. Oops! I combined the final chapter with the epilogue since they were both fairly short. Hope you like it and thanks again for sticking with this to the very end!

* * *

Zevran paused in the doorway, taking in the sight in front of him. Alistair was asleep in their large bed, his torso bare as he clutched the blankets around his waist. Zevran watched, entranced, as the warrior's chest rose and fell with each breath.

Tsking quietly to himself, he strode across the room to the large window and pulled back the thick curtains, letting in the late morning sunlight. He heard a groan behind him as Alistair finally began to stir.

"What time is it?" Alistair's voice was thick with sleep.

"Nearly noon." Zevran came over to the bed and perched on its edge. "Perhaps it is time for you to get up, yes?"

Alistair pouted. "We've been fighting for ages, I think I deserve to sleep in a little."

Zevran chuckled. "If you sleep in any longer, _amore_, it will be nighttime."

Alistair opened his eyes and took in Zevran's appearance. He fingered the silk shirt that Zevran was wearing. "I like this. Red suits you."

"Then I shall endeavor to wear it more often." Zevran smiled at him. "Are you sure you do not wish to come?"

Alistair nodded. "This is Anora's do. It would be awkward for me to be there, seeing as how I gave up the crown and all." He sat up in bed, stretching his arms. "Besides, you know I don't like having attention on me."

"Neither does our fearless leader," Zevran pointed out.

Alistair shrugged. "Well, that's what she gets for slaying the Archdemon. She shouldn't have done it if she didn't want to be the center of attention." He shot Zevran a quick grin. "And I don't have to worry about her getting into trouble with you there."

Zevran shook his head in amusement. "And what will you be doing while we are all hobnobbing with Ferelden's finest? You are not going back to sleep." He looked at Alistair sternly, but the amusement in his eyes belied his emotions.

"Actually, I'll be packing our stuff," Alistair said. "I think we should leave as soon as the ceremony's over. Sooner, if you can get away."

Zevran looked at him questioningly. "I did not realize we were in a hurry. What is with the urgency?"

Alistair scooted out of bed and went over to the wardrobe. "Well, for one thing, if we stay Anora might try to talk me into going to Weisshaupt or Vigil's Keep. I can't ever stop being a Warden or anything, but I think I deserve to have some time off from them."

Zevran nodded in agreement. Ending the Blight should definitely earn both Alistair and Natia an early retirement, though he doubted the dwarf was interested in taking any time off. Being a Warden suited her, it was almost as if she had been born for it.

Alistair threw on a shirt and sat down next to Zevran. "There's something more important than that, though." His expression was serious. "The rest of the Orlesian Wardens will be here soon, and they're going to want to know why Natia and I are still alive."

"And you do not wish them to know about the ritual." Zevran understood.

"Maker, no," Alistair exclaimed, "would _you_ want anyone to know you'd had sex with Morrigan?" Zevran opened his mouth to reply, but Alistair cut him off. "Never mind, don't answer that."

Zevran chuckled lightly. "Will you not at least say goodbye to everyone?"

"I did, last night." Alistair sighed. "It seems so strange, you know. We've all been traveling together for so long, and now we're splitting up." He ran a hand through his short hair—hair that he had promised Zevran he would let grow out in honor of their victory. "Wynne's staying here, at least. Anora asked her to be an advisor on behalf of the Circle."

Zevran nodded. "Oghren is remaining as well. He said that he had been asked to join the queen's army."

Alistair laughed at that. "Maker, I'd almost like to stay just to see that." He draped an arm over Zevran's shoulders. "What about Leliana, do you know?"

"She is going on an expedition to the Deep Roads, I believe. Anora wishes her to study the darkspawn, or some such thing."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at that. "Anora's intelligent, I'll give her that. She'll make a better ruler than me."

Zevran leaned against his lover. "You would have made a better ruler than you think. But…" he looked up at Alistair, smiling, "I am glad you are not." He tipped his head up to kiss the warrior. Alistair purred at the sensation.

Alistair shifted awkwardly. "And…um…" he hesitated. Zevran was surprised to see that the man was blushing. "I…I thought maybe we could stop somewhere and…get married." He looked up, his expression slightly anxious but determined.

Zevran was nonplussed. "You wish to get married?"

Alistair nodded, biting at his lower lip. "If…if you want to. I mean if you don't—"

Zevran cut him off with a kiss that quickly deepened. Long moments later the two pulled back, breathless. Zevran smiled at his lover fondly. "I would like that very much."

Alistair flashed him one of those boyish grins that Zevran loved so much. He leaned forward and began nuzzling Zevran's neck, his fingers reaching for the buttons on the rogue's shirt.

"Mmm, as much as I would like to, _amore_, the ceremony is starting soon." Zevran gasped as he felt Alistair's teeth nipping at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "Ah, well, I suppose I can be a _little_ late."

Alistair didn't answer, instead pushing his lover down onto the bed, kissing him passionately.

OoOoO

Eight Months Later

Warden-Commander Natia Brosca sat down at her desk at Vigil's Keep, sighing. Now that things had finally quieted down, she found herself thinking back fondly of the days she had spent fighting Darkspawn. She hadn't been lying when she told Nathaniel she would gladly fight a dozen broodmothers than deal with all the paperwork that the Commander of the Grey had to deal with. Not to mention the sodding politics.

She knew in her heart that she would be leaving soon. The intelligent darkspawn incursion had been put down, and she trusted Nathaniel enough now to take over leadership of the Wardens. She had no idea where she would go, but if she had anything to say about it, there would be no damn paperwork.

Sorting through the mail that the Seneschal had brought her, she came upon a rather battered and dirty envelope. Her name had been printed on it in blocky letters, the penmanship of someone not used to writing, but determined to do it properly. She used the letter opener on the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She gasped in surprise as she saw it was from Alistair. She had not seen or heard from either him or Zevran since they had left Denerim months ago.

_Dear Natia,_

_Greetings from Antiva! Sorry if this letter is in bad condition when you get it. Zev says it's best if you don't know exactly where we are so we had to use some ingenious means to get it to you. Well, Zevran says they're ingenious, and he knows more about that stuff than I do._

_Anyway, things have been rather interesting for us since we last saw you, to say the least. We traveled a lot for a few months. Maker, I never really knew how much was out there beyond Ferelden! We've been to Orlais and the Free Marches, and we were on our way to Par Volen when we got ambushed by the Crows._

_Don't worry, there were only a couple of them, and we got rid of them easily enough. But Zev and I decided we'd better go to them rather than wait for them to catch us by surprise again. We've taken out two Crow Masters already, and I think Zevran's actually enjoying himself. I can't exactly blame him, but I wish we could end this less violently._

_But I trust Zevran's judgment, and really, I want to be rid of these bastards as much as he does. Until they agree to leave us alone, we'll never get to settle down. Huh, that sounds so strange. I would have never in a million years thought that I would want to settle down with a man that had been hired to assassinate us! Life really is full of surprises._

_I never got the chance to thank you. If you hadn't forced me to play Spin the Bottle that night, Zevran and I would never have spent the night together. And as big a hangover as I had the next morning, it was completely worth it. I was too shy and uncertain to even think of making a move on him. And, of course I never thought someone as attractive as him would ever consider me. But getting completely smashed and playing a stupid party game was the best thing that happened to both of us—no doubt about that._

_So thank you. For being my friend and my sister. For knowing what was best for me when even I didn't know. And for teaching me that it's alright to be selfish. I'm sure our paths will cross again someday, but until then I am, and will always be,_

_Your brother-in-arms,_

_Alistair_

_P.S. Zev says you owe him five sovereigns since he won the bet about getting me to hop borders._


End file.
